


I Did it For Love, and I Was Not Afraid

by lauren3210



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauren3210/pseuds/lauren3210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic is dying out and a powerful wizard is using this fact to manipulate his way into power. Only one can stop both of these things from happening: The Chosen One, Draco Malfoy. The only trouble is, Draco doesn’t know how. Hell, he didn’t even know he was a wizard until a stranger turned up on his doorstep seven years ago…</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Did it For Love, and I Was Not Afraid

**Author's Note:**

> This submission is part of HD Smoochfest on Livejournal. The theme this year is Media Remix, which invited participants to "remix" the story from a Book, Movie, or Television Show. The author/artist will be revealed at the end of the fest.
> 
> This was created for Prompt Number: M83  
> Original Work Name: The Harry Potter Series
> 
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Notes: This story went through about three different incarnations before I finally settled on this. I quite literally jumped at the chance to write for this prompt, but once it was given to me I started to panic, because I couldn’t work out how to frame the story without just rewriting the entire thing. So, I hope that what I eventually decided works for the prompter, and that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
> *Note* Literally half of this fic wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for my beta, Indy. I honestly don’t know how I got so lucky, but I thank any and all the gods willing to listen that she agreed to help me. She held my hand when I freaked out, she pointed out exactly where I was going wrong and came up with some fantastic ideas to make it better, and then she went through it with a fine tooth comb to pick out my many mistakes. She deserves all the cookies in the world, and I love her. Any mistakes are absolutely my own, for I am an eternal last minute picker (sorry).
> 
> *Note 2* I’ve tried to keep the characters as IC as possible, but due to the nature of the prompt, some nurtured characteristics had to be changed. I hope I managed to balance this change with the canon. 
> 
> *Note 3* Title is from the beautiful fic The Price We Pay For Wings, by Frayach, from whom I also borrowed the amazing idea of the Society of the Serpent; I hope she doesn’t mind that I borrowed from her.

~~*~~

Prologue

~~*~~

Pale mist swirls into darkness, like ink dropped into water. Clouds of light and dark converge and coalesce into images. Where there was only darkness, there is now a room, dark furniture placed against walls covered in pale green and silver. Two young boys sit upon the large ornate bed. They are beautiful children, both with thick dark hair and fine features, grey eyes flashing with intelligence and confidence. The younger boy holds a silver pillow in his lap, his fingers clenched in the silky material as he frowns down at the parchment spread between them.

 

“It’s not fair,” he complains, and the older child laughs and reaches out to ruffle his hair.

 

“It’s only for a year, Reg. You’ll be coming with me next year.”

 

“But why can’t I go now? Mother says I’m more than clever enough.”

 

The older boy sighs and lays back against the pillows. “Of course she does. That’s because you’re Mother’s little pet.”

 

“Am not!”

 

“Are too!”

  
The younger boy hits his brother with the pillow, and then they are scuffling together, each trying to get the other into a headlock. The scene fades just as the two boys tumble off the edge of the large bed.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

Ink is dropped and a new scene emerges. Long tables crowded with children of all ages in four lines, candles floating in the air above them. A small group of the youngest children are gathered near the front. Every single eye is intent upon a small stool, upon which an old hat has been placed.

 

“Regulus Black!”

 

A small boy stumbles out of the group, his dark hair almost covering his grey eyes as he walks slowly towards the stool. The hat is placed upon his head, and after a moment’s pause, a rip near the brim stretches wide.

  
“Slytherin!” The hat calls out, and the small boy walks to the table clapping the loudest. He sits down and lifts his head, looking towards the table on the other side of the hall. His brother is sitting there, already decked out in his red and gold colours, and he smiles sadly at the boy, sitting too far away from him. The younger boy looks down at his hands, and the scene dissolves into ink once more.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

Another bedroom appears, different to the first. Despite the similarity in dark furniture and silky wallpaper, the room is covered in other things. Unmoving pictures of scantily clad women adorn the walls, pictures of motorbikes, all shiny and dangerous looking. Banners in gold and red have been affixed to as many different surfaces as possible; across the windows, over the door, on the large ornate bed. A young man is standing in front of the wardrobe, his pale hand reaching out to drag clothes from their hangers.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

The young man pauses but does not turn around. “I’m staying with James, until I can sort out a place of my own.” He grabs yet more clothes, stuffing them into a large bag by his feet. “I can’t stay here any longer.”

 

“Sirius, this is stupid, they’re only trying to look out for you!”

 

He shakes his head. “No, they’re trying to look out for themselves, Reg. I can’t stand anymore of their pureblood nonsense.”

 

“It’s not nonsense!” The younger boy moves further into the room, closing the door behind him. “They’re only trying to preserve the old ways.”

 

“While blatantly ignoring the fact that magic is dying out,” Sirius snorts. “No thanks, I’d rather not hang around only to be forced into a Pureblood marriage by the time I’ve hit twenty.”

 

“Well it’s better than being forced to marry a Mudblood!”

 

“So you agree with Mother then?” Sirius turns to face his brother with a scowl. “You believe that Dumbledore is just making the whole thing up?”

 

Regulus runs his fingers through his dark hair. “I don’t know, okay? All I know is that this new law he’s trying to pass leaves none of us with any choice.”

 

“You won’t have a choice here, even if the procreation law is refused!”

 

“Yes I will! If I wanted to marry a Muggleborn, I could leave the family. But with Dumbledore’s new law, I have no choice _but_ to marry a Muggleborn. He has no right to decide who I should love, Sirius!”

 

“Even if it means we all get to keep our magic?” Sirius asked quietly. “If it means our children won’t have to worry about the fact that magic is dying out, quicker than ever before?”

 

“There must be another way-“

 

“There isn’t, Reg! If there was, don’t you think Dumbledore would have thought of it?” Sirius pulls his bag closed and stands up straight. He puts his hand on his brother’s shoulder and looks into his eyes. “Come with me. James’ family will take you in, and we can be together again.”

 

Regulus shakes his head, biting his lip. “I can’t, Sirius. Maybe you’re right, and Mother’s pureblood beliefs are just nonsense. But I don’t believe that Dumbledore’s way is any better either. I’m sorry.”

 

Sirius closes his eyes and pulls Regulus to his chest in a tight hold. Then he lets go, and walks to the door, his bag over his shoulder. He pauses, his hand on the doorknob, and looks at his brother one last time. “If you change your mind, come and find me.”

  
The door shuts behind him, leaving Regulus standing alone, in the midst of a sea of red and gold, everything slowly turning to shades of grey as the ink comes along to wipe it clean.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

A grubby table near the back of the Leaky Cauldron appears from the mist. Regulus, older now, no longer proudly wearing his Slytherin green uniform, approaches his brother who is sat waiting for him. He places a hand upon his shoulder and Sirius smiles up at him, indicating the seat opposite and a drink that is waiting for him.

 

“You look happy,” Regulus remarks as he sits down and picks up the tumbler of firewhisky.

 

Sirius’ smile grows wider, and he leans over the table in excitement. “James and Lily told me some news last night. In a few months’ time, I’m going to become a godfather.”

 

Regulus smiles back. “That’s great. I’m really pleased for all of you.”

 

Sirius laughs out loud, his handsome features shining in the darkness of the old pub. “It was a bit of an unexpected surprise for them, I think.” His smile falls a little, turns more serious. “As was your owl asking to meet with me.”

 

Regulus bites his lip. “I may be having some… concerns.”

 

“About?”

 

“I noticed something at school, about the new intake of first years.”

 

“Congratulations on getting the Potions job, by the way.”

 

Regulus flashes a brief smile. “Thanks. Anyway, the first years. Hardly any of them are purebloods, and I know for a fact that several old Slytherins have children that should be of age by now. So I looked them up.” He fiddles with the glass in front of him, and Sirius gives him a sad smile.

 

“They were born practically Squibs, weren’t they?”

 

“I spoke to Professor Riddle about it. He said that they had some magic, but it just wasn’t enough to trigger their inclusion to Hogwarts. I think,” he stops, picks up the drink and downs it in one swallow. “I think Dumbledore might be right,” he says quickly, as though to get it over with.

 

“Well it’s only what I’ve been saying for about ten years,” Sirius smiles smugly, leaning back in his seat.

 

“Shut up, idiot. I want to do something to make things right. Will you help me or not?”

 

“Help you with what?”

 

Regulus winces. “I haven’t exactly been… quiet about what I think of him. I’m not going to be welcomed with open arms.”

 

Sirius waves a hand lazily. “It’ll be fine. He might ask you to do something to prove yourself, but I wouldn’t worry. You are my baby brother, after all.”

 

“And since when has that ever proved useful?”

  
Sirius laughs and reaches across the table lightning quick to ruffle Regulus’ hair. Ink swirls and drowns out Regulus’ shout of protest.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

A scrubbed wooden table sits in the middle of a rustic looking kitchen. A young woman with bright red hair hands out cups of tea, one hand resting protectively against the small swell of her stomach. She leans against one of four men gathered around the table and sips at her drink.

 

“I’m very pleased you have finally seen reason, Regulus,” intones the oldest of the group. His long hair is as silver as his beard, and his blue eyes twinkle behind half-moon glasses. “You have been quite bothersome to my recent efforts, I must say.”

 

Regulus lifts his head, casting a nervous glance towards his brother. “I’m sorry, Sir. I truly thought I was doing the right thing at the time.”

 

Dumbledore waves his hand. “It is of no matter now. Although I have to admit, I am curious as to why the leader of my opposition, who successfully defeated my Procreation Law in front of the Wizengamot, should now be coming to me, professing a wish to join my efforts.”

 

Regulus shoots another glance towards Sirius, who nods encouragingly. “I’ve come to realise the error of my actions. The old ways aren’t working; we need to do something before magic disappears forever.”

 

Dumbledore stirs his tea, looking unconcerned. “I wonder though, are you here under your own volition?” Sirius opens his mouth, but closes it again after receiving a quelling look from Dumbledore. “You’ve caused me untold damage, Regulus. My plans have been set back years, possibly decades, all due to your tireless work against me. You have disparaged my name in the papers, causing people to be less likely to listen to me. Because of your actions, I have not only lost my considerable standing within the Ministry, but it is unlikely that I will ever be afforded the position of Minister, a position that I desperately need if my message is to get through. So I’m sure you can understand my reticence in agreeing to bring you within the folds of our group.”

 

Regulus nods and gulps hard. “I know, and I apologise, Sir. I can only say that I will do whatever I can in reparations for my actions.”

 

Dumbledore regards him from over the top of his glasses. “There is something you can do for me,” he says finally. “There is something that I need, something that will help me regain my position among our kind. It has been lost for centuries, but I have recently become aware of a possible location. If you can find it and bring it back to me, then I will consider your past actions against me forgiven.”

 

“Wait, Dumbledore-“

 

“It is not your decision to make, Sirius,” Dumbledore interrupts, and Sirius stares hard across the table. “It is your brother’s.”

 

Regulus takes a deep breath, and looks around at the other occupants of the table. Then he nods. “I’ll do it.”

  
Mist and ink dissolve the scene as Sirius stands and leaves the room.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

The Headmaster’s office comes slowly into view. Professor Riddle is sitting in his high back chair, his hands folded in his lap. The other occupant of the room is folded in half upon his seat, his chest heaving with sobs.

 

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” Riddle says quietly. “Regulus was a good man, and a good teacher. The whole school will miss him very much.”

 

“He knew!” Sirius bursts out, and he looks up with eyes rimmed in red. “Dumbledore knew that cave was full of dark magic, he knew Regulus would never survive it!”

 

“You knew too, Sirius,” Riddle says coldly. “Why did you not speak up?”

 

“I tried! But Dumbledore wouldn’t listen to me. And James…” He chokes on the name of his friend, wiping his eyes. “James told me I shouldn’t worry, that Dumbledore wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Regulus, that he just wanted to see if Regulus was as genuine as he said. I thought… Oh God, I thought he’d be okay.”

 

“You know why this happened, don’t you, Sirius? Why Dumbledore felt that Regulus was a danger to him?”

 

“No! That’s just it, it doesn’t make any sense! Dumbledore wouldn’t, he wouldn’t let someone die just because they felt differently to him. Forgiveness was a foregone conclusion, Dumbledore doesn’t hold grudges.”

 

“It has little to do with forgiveness, and everything to do with power, Sirius.” Riddle says, his voice rising to be heard over Sirius’ renewed sobs.

 

“Power? I don’t understand,” Sirius whispers, his arms clenched tightly around his chest, the picture of agony.

 

“Regulus was a very charismatic man, Sirius, much like yourself. In just a few short years he amassed a great following, and was able to turn the Wizengamot away from Dumbledore’s ideals and follow his own. And that goes against Dumbledore’s needs. He not only wants to save magic, he wants to be leading the way as we walk into the new era designed by himself.”

 

“So, he led Regulus into a trap because he was worried he would usurp his position?” Sirius’ eyes were still damp, but now they held fire within the grey depths.

 

“Power is the one thing that Dumbledore has desired above all others. You should know this, Sirius, after all the time you have spent in his company.” Riddle turns his head and looks out of the darkened window, his eyes unfocused. “And soon there will be another that may take his desired place amongst us,” he murmurs to himself.

 

“You mean the boy.”

 

Riddle turns his head sharply, his eyes narrowed to slits. “What do you know about the boy?”

 

Sirius swallows hard. “I overheard the prophecy being made, when you were interviewing Sybill Trelawney.”

 

“How much did you overhear?” Riddle’s voice is like chips of ice.

 

Sirius shrugs slightly. “Not all of it, I don’t think. The barman chased me away before I could be sure. I heard something about a boy being born to a pureblood family…”

 

“Does Dumbledore know about this?”

 

“Yes. I told him.”

 

Riddle looks down on Sirius, his dark eyes so full of anger they almost flash red. “And now that you know how Dumbledore treats people who may wield more power than himself, what do you think will happen to that boy?” Sirius covers his mouth with his hand, and Riddle nods gravely.

 

Sirius sits up straight in his chair. “I’ll help you protect him. I won’t let another innocent person fall to Dumbledore.”

  
Ink swirls and the office slips into darkness.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

The mist clears to reveal the same scene, although the day is clearly different. A light snow is gathering on the windowsills of Riddle’s office, and Sirius is no longer crying. Instead, his face looks grey and careworn, no longer the handsome profile of his youth. Even Riddle looks tired, his face carrying a waxy sheen.

 

“Well,” Sirius says into the quiet of the room. “At least it’s over now.”

 

“And what makes you think that?” Riddle whispers.

 

Sirius pulls a face in confusion. “Dumbledore’s won’t be coming back from this, will he? And yes, so the boy will grow up without his parents, but at least he’s still alive.”

 

“You really think that a wizard with as much intelligence as Dumbledore would not have prepared for this eventuality?” Riddle asks, and Sirius flinches at the coldness of his tone. “No, Sirius, the threat Dumbledore poses hasn’t gone, merely suffered a setback.” He flicks his wand and conjures goblets of wine for them both. “No, mark my words,” he whispers, curling his long pale fingers around the stem of his glass. “He will be back.”

 

“So what do we do?”

  
“We protect the boy,” Riddle replies calmly, as the ink drips into the scene. “And we wait.”

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

High arching windows make themselves known out of the mist, and the ink dissolves into the vaulted ceiling of the school infirmary. White curtains are pulled around a bed in the far corner, reflecting the shadow of Madam Pomfrey as she moves beside her young patient.

 

“It’s time, Sirius,” Riddle says quietly. “Are you ready to do what must be done?”

 

Sirius looks over at the bed on the other side of the room, at the couple crying quietly beside the body of their only son. He nods grimly. “I am.”

 

Riddle watches as two Slytherin students rush into the room, listens to Madam Pomfrey as she scolds them for their haste. He looks at Sirius. “Then, good luck.”

  
Sirius nods once more and turns away, his robes washing into ink behind him.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

The fire in Riddle’s office burns away the mist, revealing the headmaster slumped in his chair. Sirius kneels beside him, wand in hand.

 

“You should have asked me to accompany you. Going alone was stupid and reckless.”

 

Riddle says nothing, merely watches as Sirius moves his wand over him in complicated gestures.

 

Sirius sighs. “Did you even find what you were looking for?”

 

“No,” Riddle whispers, and his voice is frail. He lifts his hand, a new ring adorning his middle finger. It is gold and has a cracked black stone at the centre.

 

“Is that...” Sirius trails off, staring at the ring.

 

Riddle shakes his head. “Merely a replica. Although the curse hidden within it was very real.”

 

“He still has the Wand,” Sirius says, leaning over Riddle once more with his wand.

 

“True, and I am beginning to think he might have the Stone also.”

 

“Will you tell the boy you think this?”

 

“His name is Draco, and yes, when the time is right.”

 

Sirius leans back on his heels. “The Curse is too advanced. I can slow its advancement, but not remove it completely. Eventually it will reach your heart. I’m sorry.”

 

Riddle flexes his hand, the once pale fingers now blackened and shrivelled. “It matters little. Now, tell me what you have learned over the summer.”

 

Sirius purses his lips as though he wishes to argue, but he gets up from the floor and takes his seat. “He thinks you are getting too close,” he says finally.

 

“I see. And what does he plan to do to rectify that?”

 

“He plans to coincide your death with the moment he takes over the Ministry,” Sirius says in a rush, as though the words are poison on his tongue.

 

“Ahh. So that you can remain as headmaster in my stead once you have killed me?” Riddle asks, his voice devoid of any emotion.

 

Sirius looks at him sharply. “What makes you think he wants me to do it?”

 

“Doesn’t he?”

 

Sirius sighs and slumps down in his chair. “He does,” he whispers into his lap. “He gave me the mission over the summer. And I think… I think Harry overheard us talking. It worries me.”

 

Riddle shakes his head. “Do not worry about your godson, he will play his part admirably when the time comes.”

 

“Spare me the platitudes, Riddle, and tell me how I get out of this!”

 

“You don’t. You go through with the mission, so that you can remain here at the school and protect the students once I am gone.” Riddle pulls off the ring from his finger and looks at it in the flickering candle light.

 

“You can’t be serious!” Sirius looks up, shock in his grey eyes. “You want me to kill you?”

 

“As you have just informed me, this curse will kill me before too long.”

 

“When do you wish it to happen?” Sirius asks, his voice hoarse.

  
“We shall know when the right opportunity presents itself,” Riddle whispers, and flicks his wand at the ring. The black stone falls onto the desk and disappears into a cloud of ink.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

Low beams of sunlight slice through the mist, lighting the circular stone walls in reds and yellows. Sirius stands before a painting, looking up at the empty canvas. Slowly, Riddle appears in the portrait and settles into the high back chair, his dark eyes gleaming red in the dying sunlight.

 

“We must wait until Dumbledore makes his move on the school,” he says to Sirius, who begins pacing the length of the wall.

 

“And what if the boy hasn’t found the last Deathly Hallow by then?”

 

“His name is Draco, and he already has it close at hand, Sirius.”

 

“He… what?” Sirius stops pacing to stare at the painting.

 

“It has been within his reach ever since he set off with your godson.”

 

“You mean…” Sirius gasps and stumbles back. “James’ cloak? That’s the last Deathly Hallow?”

 

“Indeed.” Riddle leans back in his chair, folding his pale and whole hands in his lap.

 

“But then-“ Sirius begins pacing again. “What was the point in sending the boy off to look for it? Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

 

“It was meant to keep him safe, away from Dumbledore until the time was right. And as long as Draco was on the move, so too was the last remaining Hallow Dumbledore desperately wishes to unite with his wand and the stone.”

 

Sirius sighs and throws himself into his own chair. “So what is the plan?”

 

“The plan is we wait until Dumbledore comes to the school. And then Draco will do what needs to be done.”

 

“Are you finally going to tell me the rest of the prophecy now?”

 

Riddle nods. “And then you shall tell Draco, so that he will know what to do. The full prophecy was this: _The only son born that connects the oldest pureblood families together will have the power to return Magic to its former glory, for he will unite the Houses as never before._ ”

 

“How will one boy be able to do that?”

 

“He won’t. His death will.”

 

Sirius stands up and glares at the painting. “I thought this was all about helping him survive! Everything that I have done, Riddle, has been about protecting him as I couldn’t do for Regulus! And now you’re telling me it was all for nothing?”

 

Riddle shakes his head. “Not for nothing, no. It had kept him safe until the right moment. And now, he will face Dumbledore in front of all of the Houses of the school, and his death will unite the Houses as never before.”

 

Sirius frowns. “You mean the prophecy was about the Houses of Hogwarts, not the houses of the pureblood families?”

 

“Precisely.” Riddles raises an eyebrow. “Magic is a sentient thing, Sirius. It sensed the divide between the Houses and started to withdraw, hoping to reduce the amount of damage. Only by uniting the Houses as the Founders were once before, will save magic. And only Draco’s sacrifice will accomplish it.”

 

Sirius stares at him. “It’s not going to work, Riddle, he’s a Slytherin; he’ll never walk to his own death just to save the lives of others.”

 

“No, but he need only do it for one person.”

 

Sirius stares up at the portrait of the old headmaster. “You mean Harry.”

 

“Gryffindor and Slytherin, reunited at last.”

  
Ink falls into mist, and then there is no more.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

The floor is hard and unforgiving as Draco pulls his head up and falls backward, gasping for air. He pats the solid wood beneath him and clamps his throat around a hysterical laugh threatening to bubble out of him. Because of course it would end like this. He can feel his heart beating hard against his chest, and he wonders idly if it knows it’s almost over, that it will only beat a few more times before it rests forever. He clamps a sweating hand over his mouth but the strangled sob escapes anyway, echoing out across the cool, dark room, a place he had once felt such comfort. But the comfort had been a lie. It all had.

 

He thinks to himself that he should get up, but he can’t yet manage to make his body respond to his feeble commands. _Just a few more beats,_ his pulse seems to whisper as it rushes in his ears. _A few more minutes can’t hurt._ Except they can, and Draco knows it.

 

He pulls himself to his feet, ignoring the aches and pains that threaten to make his vision blur and his legs tremble. Not much longer now; he can hold on a bit longer for _him._ The office is cold and dark, devoid of all the things that once made it what it was. The portraits hung on the walls are empty; their occupants fled to other paintings in the castle. Draco wonders if they’ve run away from him, from his accusing glare.

 

Because that’s what he wants to do; wants to rant and rave and throw things viciously, wants to scream at the line of headmasters and mistresses for letting this happen to him, for not telling him until it was too late for him to do anything else. Riddle must have known it, must have been waiting for the exact moment for it to hurt Draco this much. Maybe Pansy had been right; maybe the two old men really were just as sadistic as each other.

 

But none of that matters now, because it _is_ too late, and there is nothing Draco can do about it. _I have to die_ , he thinks, and a wave of emotion threatens to tumble him back down to the floor. After all this time, after all this fighting, and now he knows it was all for nothing. He wants to crawl under the table and hide there forever. He wants to march outside and curse everything he sees. He wants to run to _him_ and pretend this isn’t happening. Nothing, it was all for nothing.

 

 _Not for nothing,_ a voice whispers in his head, and the voice is so familiar, the cadence so soothing Draco can almost feel _him_ in the room with him. _We’ll still have our memories._

  
Draco turns away from the pensieve, the innocent twinkling of it making him feel sick in the wake of what he had just learned. He braces his hands on the large black wingback chair and closes his eyes. And he remembers.

 

~~*~~

Year One

~~*~~

It was never exactly comfortable, living in the dilapidated manor with his aunt and uncle. Draco always felt as though he was walking on eggshells, just waiting for the moment he would inevitably do something wrong and be ordered to his small cupboard, or out of the house completely, no matter the state of the weather. But that morning the air held an extra weight to it, as Draco stood in the foyer with Aunt Bellatrix, waiting for the arrival of their visitor. Uncle Rodolphus had prowled through the liveable parts of the house for most of the morning, muttering under his breath words that Draco didn’t entirely understand but could guess the meaning of by the tone used. Draco’s left hand plucked at his trousers, one of the few pairs he owned that almost fit him properly. They were still a little baggy around the waist, but the belt he pulled through the loops helped hold them up enough, and the length of brown plastic was hidden by the too long hem of his t shirt. His collar kept slipping over one shoulder, and Draco was glad of the excuse to keep fidgeting. He hated waiting for things to happen.

 

He was just adjusting his collar for the fourth time in as many minutes when the heavy knocker connected with the front door with an echoing bang. Aunt Bellatrix jumped slightly, covering the motion by moving swiftly forwards from her place by the stairs to pull the door open and welcome their visitor. Draco hadn't been able to imagine what their visitor would look like, but if he had, it certainly wouldn't look like the man who greeted him. He was tall, and wearing a long black cloak much like the ones Draco had found hanging in the back of his cupboard. His hair was long, the greasy black strands brushing his shoulders. He had a large hooked nose and black eyes that glittered as he looked at them both. Draco knew instinctively that this was not a man to cross.

 

“Bella,” the man said, inclining his head. “It’s good to see you again.”

 

Aunt Bellatrix merely raised an eyebrow, not bothering to return the compliment. “I don’t understand the point of all of this. Why have us living as Muggles all these years just to send the boy to school?” She glared down at Draco, as though he was at fault. But he couldn’t think of a single thing he had done recently to incur her wrath; he didn’t even understand what she was talking about. “Have you spoken with him?” She asked the man, standing in such a way that it looked as though she was refusing him entry. “About Rodolphus and myself?”

 

The man winced and shook his head. “It’s not my place to question his orders.” He turned his head, and fixed his cold black eyes on Draco. His eyes flicked from the scar on Draco’s temple, and then to his eyes. “Draco. You look so much like your parents.”

 

Draco stared at the stranger. “I do?”

 

The man’s smile faltered, and he turned his gaze back on Bellatrix. “Surely your Aunt has told you about them?”

 

Bellatrix smoothed her hands down her dress, looking bored. That look always scared Draco; some of his worst punishments came after that look. “Well, I’m sure we’ve both plenty of things to be getting on with today, so I shall leave you to your day with the boy.” She tried to walk away, but the man’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm.

 

“Wait. Do you mean to tell me you’ve told him nothing?”

 

“You’re his godfather,” Bellatrix sneered, and Draco saw the man’s lips pull back in a sneer. “I thought you might like the chance to tell him yourself.” She pulled her arm from the man’s grip and swept away down the hall, leaving Draco standing in the foyer alone with the man whose name he didn’t even know.

  
The man’s jaw worked a few times, before he let out a sigh and pushed the door wider. “Come, Draco. We’ve lots to do today and we don’t have much time to waste.”

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

He stared out of the alley and into the bustling street that he had been told was London. Draco didn’t know how his brain could have come up with a picture like this, because he had never even been to London, but there it was, just a few steps away. He turned back to the man standing behind him.

 

Draco had once heard one of his teachers at school talking about ‘out of body experiences’. Mrs Kular had been involved in a car accident, and Draco had stumbled across her telling Principle Stanton that she had seen and heard some really strange things while she had been unconscious. Draco wondered if he was actually laying in a ditch somewhere, knocked out, and everything that was happening was just some weird dream his brain had thought up while he was sleeping.

 

“I don’t understand,” he said finally. The man – _Severus Snape,_ his mind supplied too late – merely looked at him.

 

Draco tried again. “So you’re saying, magic is real, there’s a school that teaches people how to use it, and I’m going there because _I’m_ a wizard?” Severus inclined his head, and Draco thought he must have hit his head _really_ hard before he fell unconscious. “I’m sorry, Mr Snape, but I think you have me confused with someone else. I’m not a wizard.”

 

To Draco’s surprise, the man just smiled thinly. “You sound so sure of yourself. So nothing strange has ever happened to you, things you couldn’t explain?”

 

Draco thought about it. He remembered hiding behind a tree and hoping one of the bullies from school wouldn’t notice him as they passed, only to find that nobody seemed to be able to see him for the rest of the day. He remembered being angry over Uncle Rodolphus ordering him to clean the kitchen and then watching with delight as the fire flicked out of the hearth and burnt his uncle’s eyebrows off. He remembered wishing that Aunt Bellatrix would pay for forcing him to clean the toilet, only for her to come home minutes later soaked to the skin and muttering about a cloud that seemed to follow her around.

 

Draco looked back up at Severus, who sneered lightly. “There, you see? As I said, you’re a wizard, and if you’re anything like your mother and father, you’ll be a great one.”

 

“You knew my parents?”

 

Severus nodded. “I did. Lucius was a prefect at school in his day, and I’ve never seen a witch brew a potion quite as well as Narcissa.” He grabbed Draco by the shoulder and steered him into the bustling crowds of London. “Come now, we’ve got to get you your school things.”

 

“Hang on, I don’t understand. If my mum was a witch, then isn’t Aunt Bellatrix one too? She was her sister.” Draco had to raise his voice to be heard over the sounds of traffic and people hurrying by.

 

“There are some things I can’t tell you, Draco. But you’ll find out soon enough.” Severus stopped suddenly and Draco almost bumped into him. “Now, in you go.”

 

Draco looked up, and saw the front of a small and very grubby pub. It didn’t look like much, and the people walking past hardly even seemed to notice it. “Why are we going in here?”

 

Severus sneered. It seemed to be his most favourite expression. “Because it gets us to where we need to go, of course. You don’t think you’re going to be able to buy yourself a wand out here, do you?”

 

Draco supposed not, and so he followed Severus into the tiny little pub.

 

It was lunchtime, and the place was crowded with people having drinks and sandwiches. And they were all dressed like Severus, in those clothes that seemed so regal and yet quite old fashioned. All the noise suddenly stopped as Severus pushed him through the crowd, and Draco looked around, trying to work out was had happened.

 

It appeared that what had happened was him, because they were all looking at him. Draco felt a moment of complete bewilderment as everyone stared, the whole pub seeming to hold its breath. And then the noise came rushing back in as the crowd moved in as one, some reaching out to touch him, trying to shake his hand.

 

“It’s Draco Malfoy!”

 

“Oh my goodness!”

 

“Well I never.”

 

“Oh, he looks just like his father!”

 

Draco found himself shaking hands with person after person, each one exclaiming over how good it was to see him, and every single pair of eyes sliding over the scar on his temple. And Draco _loved_ it. He’d never been the centre of this much attention before. He puffed out his chest and smiled at everyone, thoroughly enjoying every minute of it, although a voice in the back of his mind wondered just what exactly the fuss was about. But he would be able to ask Severus about it later. When it seemed as though he had shaken the hand of almost every one there at least twice, Severus finally clapped a hand to his shoulder. He murmured apologies to the people surrounding Draco and guided them both out into the back of the pub.

 

“You’ll probably find that happening a lot. Do try to react appropriately when it does,” he said, as he tapped a wooden stick against one of the bricks in the wall.

 

“I’ll try,” Draco replied faintly, and he was about to ask exactly why he had received such attention, when the wall in front of him suddenly… disappeared.

 

In its place was a large archway, and beyond it was a street, the likes of which Draco had never seen before. There were shops selling weirdly tame animals and sweets with strange names, a sports shop that sold brooms of all things and shops that held lots of weird instruments that Draco couldn’t even begin to guess the function of. And everywhere, everywhere, there were people dressed like those in the pub, handing over strange looking coins in exchange for goods and waving sticks of wood in their hands. Draco couldn’t take it all in.

 

“What do you say to an ice-cream, before we do all our shopping, hmm?” Severus led Draco to a brightly coloured shop and made him sit in a chair under the awning outside. “You look like you could do with a bit more sun on you,” he mumbled, before slipping inside the shop and reappearing moments later with one of the biggest ice-creams Draco had ever seen. He felt his eyes widening, and tried to control the drool that threatened to slip from his mouth at the sight.

 

Draco waited until he was at least halfway through his dessert – chocolate-mint and strawberry, _yum_ – before finally asking the questions he had been dying to ask since the pub. “So,” he began, looking down at his spoon so Severus wouldn’t see the desperate need for answers shining in his eyes, “If you’re my godfather, how come you didn’t take me in when my parents died?”

 

Severus regarded him with his glittering black eyes. “The answer to that question would take a lot of explaining. It was not my decision and therefore not my story to tell. Now, why don’t you ask me the question you really want the answer to?”

 

Draco decided he liked his godfather. “Those people in the pub. How come they were so pleased to see me?”

 

Severus raised an eyebrow. “As I told you before, Draco. There are some things it is not my place to tell.”

 

“But everyone will laugh at me at this new school if I don’t know anything,” Draco protested.

 

Severus sighed, pressing his fingertips together. “All right. I suppose you can’t attend school completely ignorant of our background.

 

“Many years ago, there was a very powerful wizard. He was incredibly clever, and he was very outspoken on his belief over what would save the wizarding world.”

 

“Save it? From what?” Draco interrupted.

 

Severus looked out over the crowded square. “Magic is dying out, Draco,” he mumbled quietly, and Draco felt his eyes widen. “It’s been gradual, but it’s happening. Magic isn’t as easy for us to access as it used to be. Spells are harder, potions don’t have the same effect. The Healers have been trying for decades to work out why it all just seems to be… fading.

 

“A few years ago, one wizard spoke up about his theory. It was all the Purebloods marrying into the same families over and over again, he said it was diluting the magic. He said drastic measures needed to be taken to rejuvenate it. All the Healers agreed with him, and the Ministry of Magic started encouraging people with Pureblood lines into marrying Muggles and Muggleborns.”

 

“Muggles?”

 

“Muggles are what we call people without magical ability. Muggleborns are people with magic born into Muggle families.” Severus looked down at the table, his black hair forming a greasy curtain around his face. “This one wizard had a lot of support, both from within the Ministry and elsewhere, and many people agreed with him that this was the correct course to take. But he wasn’t satisfied with the progress we were making, because not all Purebloods wanted to mix their bloodline with that of Muggleborns. So he drafted a new marriage law. It was opposed at first, but after the leader of the opposition disappeared, the law was presented again and passed. Under this new decree, Purebloods were no longer allowed to marry each other, and even halfbloods that came from long lines of purity on one side were only allowed to marry Muggleborns. And that’s when people started to wonder if he really was just interested in saving magic.”

 

“Why did they think that?” Draco had left his dessert sitting for too long; it was now a swirl of brown and pink goo. He pushed it away.

 

“People started wondering if he just liked the power. He could do whatever he wanted, tell people what to do, and he was in charge of it all because he’d come up with the only way to save our way of life. But some of us didn’t like what he was doing, didn’t like that he was trying to restrict our way of life. So a war broke out between us, with some Purebloods wanting the rights to marry whomever they wanted, and some others insisting that Muggle integration was the only way to save us all.” Severus snorted. “We even had a secret group, for those of us who opposed the Ministry’s new law. We called ourselves the Society of the Serpent. But then the Ministry started bringing down harsher punishments for those of us who fought against the new laws, and people were dying. And then you were born.” Severus looked up at Draco.

 

“Me? What was so special about me?” Draco could feel his heart pounding; he was _special_.

 

“Your mother and father getting married was quite the scandal, because between the pair of them they came from the oldest wizarding families in Britain. They had to hide it from everyone who wasn’t on our side, but they loved each other. They refused to let a crazy old man tell them who they should marry instead.”

 

Draco swallowed against the lump threatening to form in his throat. “Is that why they died?”

 

“No one really knows what happened that night.” Severus looked at him and Draco thought he could see something like pity shining in those black eyes. He looked away. “But whatever happened, we know this much: _He_ found you and your parents, and he killed them and he tried to kill you. But somehow, you survived. And then he just… disappeared. That’s why you’re famous.”

 

“Did he die?” Draco asked quietly.

 

“No. But once he made his move against you and your parents, he had to go into hiding. He hasn’t been seen since.”

 

Severus’s gaze flicked almost unwillingly over Draco’s face, and Draco’s hand moved without conscious thought to trace a finger over the jagged scar on his temple. “This wizard,” Draco said, forcing his hand back down to hide the clenched fist beneath the table. “What was his name?”

 

Severus looked at him calculatingly for a moment. “His name was Dumbledore,” he said finally. “Now come, we’ve got a lot to do today.” He stood up, the metal chair legs scraping against the stone floor with finality. “You’ll need school robes first, I think, so we’ll want to go and visit Madam Malkins.” Severus steered Draco through the throngs of people, and he felt his heart sink for the first time since arriving in London.

 

“Um, Severus? Did Aunt Bellatrix give you some money for this? Only, I don’t have any.”

 

Severus just pushed him further down the crowded lane. “Don’t worry about that, Draco. Professor Riddle – who will be your headmaster at school – he’s been keeping your money safe for you. Your parents left you more than enough.”

 

Draco wanted to ask more about his parents and this Professor Riddle, but found himself shoved through the doorway of a small shop before he could. “You go and get yourself measured; I need to run a quick errand.” Draco looked up at Severus, who squeezed his shoulder lightly. “Do not wander off, I shall be back shortly.”

 

The door clanged shut, and Draco found himself standing in the middle of an empty room. Before he could call out, a smiling woman bustled through from the back, her arms full of materials and thread, a tape measure hanging from her lips. As soon as she saw him, she waved him over, and Draco followed her over to a corner.

 

“School uniform, love? I’ve got another young lad here just being done.” She pointed at a small podium. “Stand up on there, and we’ll get you measured in a jiffy.” Draco stood on the platform as the woman turned to the small boy standing next to him. “How do those feel, love?”

 

Draco studied the boy next to him. He had a shock of black hair that looked as though he’d never even heard of a comb. He was shorter than Draco, and skinny too, but his skin held a healthy glow and his teeth were white and perfect as he grinned at Madam Malkin and did a little spin on the spot for her.

 

Madam Malkin nodded approvingly and helped him pull off the robes, before heading off to the back room with them. The boy turned to look at Draco and grinned. Draco could see that his eyes were very green, even behind the round spectacles he wore.

 

“Hey,” the boy said. “You getting your stuff for Hogwarts too?” Draco nodded and the boy smiled wider. “Excellent. My mate Ron’s down at the Owl Emporium, but he said he thinks he saw a Muggleborn over in the bookshop.” He bounced on his toes in excitement, then he peered closer at Draco. “What about you?”

 

“What about me what?” Draco asked.

 

The boy rolled his eyes impatiently. “Are your mum and dad both magic?” Again, Draco just nodded, and the boy sighed. “Shame. I could have told Ron I’d met one too. Oh look!” He suddenly jumped up and down and started waving through the window, where a woman with bright red hair and eyes the same colour green as the boy was standing. “Mum’s got all my books, which means that now it’s time for ice cream!” He jumped off the podium, waving at Draco as he ran the length of the shop, grabbing his bag full of clothes as he passed Madam Malkin with a grin. “See you at school!”

  
The boy was so cheerful and friendly, something Draco hadn’t had much cause to experience at his last school, that he hadn’t even noticed the tape had been measuring him all by itself and had somehow tied itself into a knot around his neck. Draco turned slowly on his platform, staring through the window at the boy and his mother, until the crowd swallowed them up and Madam Malkin came to rescue him from the tape measure.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

Draco pushed his trolley into the steam from the bright red engine, his heart still pounding from having to actually _walk through a wall_ to get to the platform. There were people everywhere, all dressed how they were on his trip into Diagon Alley with Severus; parents and kids, some already in their school uniform, others in a mixture of children’s robes and muggle clothing. Draco smoothed down his brand new robes that he had ordered (via _owl,_ which was probably the weirdest thing he had ever done, and yet it had felt right in a way that nothing else had before), keen to fit into this new world he was now a part of.

 

Cats of various sizes and colours meandered through legs and hopped onto trunks piled outside carriages, owls screeched in their cages as their owners ran up and down the platform, meeting up with friends and hugging their families goodbye. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw a mess of black hair, and he turned, seeing the boy from the robes shop standing a few feet away. He had his arm round the shoulders of another boy with a shock of bright red hair, and they were pointing and laughing at another, older boy standing a little further away from them. The boy also had red hair and a freckled face, and a sign pinned to his back that read _Big Head Boy._ He noticed them pointing at him and found the sign, and the two younger boys shouted with laughter as they ran away. Draco watched as the ensuing scuffle was broken up by a tall red haired man and another, with dark hair like the boy’s, wearing the same type of glasses.

 

“Well, don’t you stand out in a crowd.”

 

Draco turned to find a young girl standing next to him, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. She had a pug nose and a smirk, although it slipped slightly as she ran her gaze over him and landed on his scar. “You’re Draco Malfoy,” she said, and her voice shook, despite the fact that she was obviously trying to cover it. Draco smirked slightly. Her gaze turned calculating then, and she clamped her hand on his arm. “Come on, you can share my carriage.”

 

Together, they lifted Draco’s trunk into a carriage near the end of the train, and the girl introduced herself. “I’m Pansy. And this idiot is Blaise.” She pointed at a serene looking boy sitting in the corner of the carriage, staring out at the station with a bored expression on his face. Pansy kicked him in the shin. “Oi, Blaise, you can practise your disaffected face later. Say hello to our new friend.”

 

Blaise turned in his seat with a sigh, but Draco was amused to see his eyes widen as they took in Draco’s appearance. It seemed it wasn’t only pub patrons who recognised him. “Excellent work, Parkinson. And here I thought first year was going to be boring.” He stood up. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I must go and say goodbye to Mother.”

 

He walked out of the carriage, and Pansy followed him, leaning back through the doorway with a stern “Don’t go anywhere.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes, but sat down close to the window. He watched – his new friends? – as they both stepped back onto the platform and close in on a group of adults standing a few feet away. Blaise kissed the cheek of a stunning looking woman as Pansy hugged a tall, dark haired man. And then they both turned back to the train just as the whistle blew.

 

The platform was a mad scramble of bodies and trunks as all who were not yet on the train dashed off to find a last minute carriage. Blaise and Pansy slid back into Draco’s carriage just as the rumble of the engine got louder and started forward with a jolt. Draco didn’t bother to look out of the window at the quickly disappearing station; everything was in front of him now.

 

Draco found the journey actually kind of fun. Pansy was quick-witted and amusing, as she pointed out people passing by their carriage. She seemed to know quite a few people, by reputation if not to talk to. Blaise, once he’d stopped lounging in a show to his mother, became much more animated once the train was far enough away from the station. He gleefully told Draco all about his mother’s husbands, and talked about all the fancy wizard galas and balls he had attended. As reserved and cool as they seemed to come across, Draco decided he quite liked them both, and was glad that he had chosen to remain in their carriage. They taught him games like Exploding Snap and Wizard’s Chess, and they seemed to view telling him all about the wizarding world as a gift that only they knew what to do with.

 

It was just after lunch when Draco’s third game of chess with Blaise was suddenly interrupted by their carriage door slamming open. All three of them looked up as two boys fell over themselves and landed in a heap on the floor between the seats.

 

“Quick, shut the door! He’s coming!”

 

“Move your massive foot then, it’s in the way!”

 

After a bit more scuffling around, one of the boys managed to slam the door shut again, and then lay down on the floor as two older boys ran past, the second completely identical to the first. They collapsed into giggles as they pulled themselves into seats, and then looked up, seemingly surprised that the carriage was occupied.

 

“Well, if it isn’t Pansy Parkinson,” the dark haired boy said. He smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his green eyes.

 

“And Zabini too,” the redhead said with a sneer. “Has your mum offed anyone else recently?” Then he turned to Draco. “I don’t know this one.”

 

“Neither did I, at first,” the other boy said. “We met in Madam Malkins the other week.” His gaze raked over Draco. “I suppose I should have guessed by your hair colour. It’s really blond.” He leaned forward in his seat. “Don’t you remember, Ron? Dad told us Draco Malfoy was coming to Hogwarts this year.”

 

“Blimey!” The redhead – Ron – stared openly at Draco, who found his attention somewhat unpalatable. “What House do you wanna go into then?”

 

The sudden change of subject made Draco frown. He didn’t know what the boy was talking about. Pansy noticed his confusion and jumped in to explain.

 

“All the students are sorted into four different Houses. There’s Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, Gryffindor and, of course, Slytherin.”

 

“Of course,” Ron scoffed. “Gotta have a House for all you slimy gits to go in, so as you don’t contaminate the rest of us.”

 

“What House are you hoping for then?” Blaise cut in over Pansy’s spluttering. “I don’t think they have a house for stupid people.”

 

The dark haired boy kicked Ron to stop him from shouting an angry reply, and raised his arm above his head. “Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart,” he said, holding an imaginary sword in his upstretched arm. “We’d better get going, Ron. Hermione can try that repairing spell now that you’ve broken my glasses.”

 

Both boys stood up, and Ron cast a dirty look at both Pansy and Blaise as he pulled open the door and walked out. The other boy however, held out his hand to Draco. “I’m Harry, by the way, Harry Potter. Maybe we could be friends. If you don’t end up in Slytherin, anyway.” He laughed, and Draco scowled.

 

“Or maybe we won’t be friends, no matter what House we end up in.”

 

Potter shrugged and withdrew his hand. “Maybe you’re right. See you around Parkinson, Zabini.” He nodded to them both, then looked at Draco. “Malfoy.” And then he was gone.

 

“God, what a git,” Pansy groaned as Blaise made a rude hand gesture at the door. “Mark my words Draco,” she said, leaning forward earnestly. “There’s nothing worse than a bloody Gryffindor. That House is just full to the brim with Blood Savers and arrogant twits.”

 

“Blood Savers?”

 

Pansy sneered at nothing in particular. “That’s what they called themselves, which is why they’re also arrogant twits. They were the ones who decided the only way to save magic was to marry Muggles.” She looked up at Draco. “You do know about all of that, right?”

 

Draco nodded. “My godfather told me about it.”

 

“Thank God for that.” Pansy leaned back in her seat with a theatrical sigh. “It would be the end of your social life if you knew absolutely nothing. Honestly Draco, Blaise and I can only do so much.”

  
Draco scowled and looked out of the window, wishing he’d questioned Severus for more answers. He didn’t want people thinking he was stupid, after all.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

Life at Hogwarts was better than Draco could have possibly imagined. He slept in a dorm room in dungeons under the lake, sharing the room with Blaise and three other boys. He ate in the Great Hall with both Blaise and Pansy, with the rest of his house arguing over who got to sit in the seat opposite him. He was treated like a celebrity in his house common room, and people stared at him and then whispered to their friends as he passed them in the corridors between classes. His favourite class by far was Potions, and the rest of them weren’t so bad either. The only class he didn’t enjoy was Defense Against the Dark Arts; the teacher, Professor Black, would stare at him suspiciously, always favouring the Gryffindors over the Slytherins. Draco swore the man seemed to be following him; he was always just around the corner, always planting himself in front of Draco’s desk in class, as though he was waiting to catch Draco up to something.

 

The only dark spot on his time at school was the Golden Trio. Blaise had named them that the night of their detention in the Forbidden Forest, for being caught out of bed after curfew. Harry Potter, his ginger-haired sidekick Ron Weasley and their Muggleborn friend Hermione Granger flanking him on either side, had challenged Draco to a duel at midnight a few months into their first term. Not one to back down, Draco had agreed and, together with Blaise and Pansy, they had snuck out of their dormitories to meet with Potter and his friends. They’d barely had time to fling a few insults at each other before the harsh breaths of Argus Filch the caretaker had echoed down the corridor towards them, and everyone had fled. Draco, Blaise and Pansy had all been caught, but Potter and his cohorts had somehow managed to disappear completely. As Filch had guided them back down the corridor towards Professor McGonagall’s office, muttering under his breath about the punishments he hoped were in store for them, Draco could have sworn he’d heard a giggle coming from the empty alcove as they passed. Draco might have simply brushed it off as a ghost - there were certainly enough of them in the castle - had it not been for the fact that the laugh had sounded suspiciously like Potter’s.

 

So Blaise had named them the Gryffindor Golden Trio, and the name had stuck. Draco would have found it amusing if it hadn’t been for the fact that Potter had got wind of it and started using the name himself, thoroughly pleased with himself. It was interesting for Draco though, as he’d never had a nemesis before. Well, he had, if you could include a nutty old man who had tried to kill him as a child - and Draco _did_ \- but he’d never felt this much hatred and pure loathing for another person before.

 

As much as the house of Slytherin fawned over their new celebrity in their midst, Potter was treated like a prince by his own house, Gryffindor. Older boys patted him on the back as they walked past him in the hallways; the girls ruffled his hair. Once, Draco had been horrified to witness one of the Gryffindor prefects lean down and kiss Potter on the cheek. It annoyed Draco, because while there was a perfectly good reason why his own house would treat himself in much the same way, Potter had done nothing to earn such attention. Draco was fawned over because he was _special_ , but what was Potter? Nothing but a spoiled brat whose father had apparently once been a Quidditch legend.

 

And that was the real reason for Draco’s decision to name Potter as his nemesis. Not content with showing Draco up in Defense lessons - the professor was his _godfather_ for goodness’ sake, of _course_ he was going to be better at it than anybody else - or in the corridors between classes by pulling pranks that invariably ended with one of them having to take a trip to the hospital wing, Potter had also decided to encroach upon Draco’s most favourite thing about life at Hogwarts: Quidditch.

 

Draco had been nervous for his first flying lesson back in September, and although he had tried not to let it show, Pansy had seen right through his inability to eat much more than a slice of dry toast on the morning before they were all required to head down to the pitch. She’d poked him sharply with her bony elbow and informed him that his nerves would only make the entire ordeal worse. Then she’d stood up from the breakfast table and warned him that he’d better not let her down by failing and then stormed off. Which hadn’t really helped settle his nerves all that much.

 

But it had turned out that he needn’t have been nervous at all; he took to flying as easy as breathing. The only thing that had marred the feeling of perfect bliss as the wind raced through his hair and the ground fell away beneath him was the fact that it had been Potter who had goaded him enough to take to the sky in the first place. All Draco had done was pick up the remembrall stupid Longbottom had dropped when he fell off his broom and broke his arm, and Perfect Potter simply _had_ to jump on the opportunity to make Draco look like an idiot.

 

Except he hadn’t, because the moment Draco’s hand touched the school broom he’d felt the sureness of the subtle vibrations against his skin, and he had just known instinctively what to do. He’d flown high into the hair, his blood singing with joy at the feeling of flying, and only once he had reached the height of the tallest trees had he realised that Potter had followed him up. And annoyingly, Potter could _fly._ He had almost wobbled off his broom as he lost concentration for a moment, too busy watching the effortless way Potter twirled in mid air, holding his broom as though it was an extension of him. Irritated at having his wonderful moment ruined by bloody Potter, Draco had scowled and thrown the remembrall as hard and as far as he could, before racing back to the ground in a loose spiral.

 

Despite Potter’s involvement, Draco had found himself pleased at his first time on a broom going so successfully. That is, until he landed and noticed Madam Hooch watching from the sidelines, her eyebrow raised and her jaw clenched. She beckoned him closer with one finger while simultaneously blowing her whistle in Potter’s direction. Draco hoped that as he’d returned to the ground sooner than Potter - because the git just _had_ to show off and go and catch the bloody remembrall - that Potter would get a heavier punishment than he would.

 

Surprisingly, neither of them ended up being punished at all. In fact, after spending half an hour being told how irresponsible they’d been by Professor Mcgonagall, they both found themselves on the Quidditch pitch, standing still as Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood circled them both, all the while glaring at each other over the tops of their heads instead of teaching them the game as they’d been asked to do. Potter, of course, already knew how to play, but Draco had heard only the barest points from Blaise about how the game was played.

 

“My dad’s gonna be so mad when he finds out I beat him at Quidditch,” Potter had said, taking the opportunity to talk while Flint and Wood shouted at each other.

 

Draco had heard all about James Potter winning the Quidditch House Cup six years in a row during his time at school; apparently it was still something of a record. “You’ll have to win matches for you to actually beat him, Potter,” he’d whispered back with a sneer. “Not likely to happen with me on Slytherin team.”

 

Potter snorted. “Whatever, Malfoy. At least I actually know how the game is played.”

 

“Then just think how much more humiliating it will be for you when I win,” Draco had replied, and then they’d both been pulled away by their new team captains before either could utter another word.

 

So, Quidditch matches had been added to the rivalry between Draco and Potter, and Draco had lorded his win over the Gryffindor for months after their first match against each other. Pansy had taken great delight in constantly asking Potter if he needed to clean his glasses so he could see the Snitch better, and Blaise had taken to imitating Potter’s flail as Draco had snatched the tiny fluttering ball from right under Potter’s nose. The Golden Trio had retaliated by upping the pranks pulled in the hallways and at mealtimes, but their efforts had done little to curb Draco’s smug smirk as Professor Riddle had proclaimed Slytherin the House Cup winners at the end of the year, and he’d sent a scowling Potter a little wave from across the hall before turning to celebrate with the rest of his house.

 

Despite all that horrible business with Dumbledore and the Philosopher’s Stone, Draco couldn’t help thinking as he climbed on board the Hogwart’s Express and took a last look at the castle that had been his home for an entire year, that there really was nowhere else he’d rather be.

  
Being a famous wizard was _brilliant._

 

~~*~~

Year Two

~~*~~

After spending a few weeks with his aunt and uncle, Draco had been pleased to find himself staying with Blaise for the last few weeks of the summer holidays. Both Aunt Bellatrix and Uncle Rodolphus had been happy enough that Professor Riddle had allowed them back into the wizarding world now that they no longer needed to hide Draco in the Muggle world, but still they resented his presence with them. Draco resented them right back, and was already planning on asking Professor Riddle if he could never go back to his aunt and uncle ever again.

 

Staying with Blaise had been a revelation for Draco; after spending a decade confined in the Muggle world, his aunt and uncle had fallen gratefully back into using magic with gusto, but in the Zabini household things were much more refined. Draco had trouble pronouncing Blaise’s stepfather’s name - it had far too many x’s and k’s in it for Draco’s liking - but Blaise had assured him he needn’t trouble himself over it because before long his mother would have moved on to husband number six and everyone would have forgotten about dear old Xenokrates.

 

And so Draco’s summer had passed in a whirl of banquets and balls and learning how to play wizard’s chess and ordering house elves around Blaise’s summer home, and Draco had never been happier. Except for at Hogwarts, of course. Blaise’s mother had taken them shopping in Diagon Alley a week before term started to get their school supplies, and together with Pansy they had gone into Flourish and Blotts to buy their new school books, where they had promptly bumped into the Golden Trio.

 

“Oh look, Potter’s got himself a girlfriend,” Draco sneered in the tight spaces between the bookshelves. The look of horror on Potter’s face was more than worth it, and Draco smirked as he watched Potter give the little red-haired girl next to him terrified looks.

 

“Oi, that’s my sister, you pointy git!” Ron Weasley shouted furiously, his face almost redder than his hair.

 

Draco opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted as a woman with long red hair and green eyes placed her hand on Potter’s shoulder. “Harry,” she said, smiling down at their little group facing each other. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friends?” Her eyes raked over Draco, taking in the ice blond of his hair and lingering on the scar on his temple. Her green gaze narrowed slightly, but her smile remained in place.

 

“Mum, this is Malfoy and his friends,” Potter mumbled, looking everywhere but at Draco.

 

“And we were just leaving,” Pansy said. She tried to grab Draco’s arm to pull him from the shop, but Mrs Potter was faster. She reached out and placed the hand that was on her son’s shoulder onto Draco’s.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr Malfoy,” she said, and her voice was warm and light. Draco knew that she and her husband had both been supporters of Dumbledore and he wanted to feel some disgust, maybe even some fear, over the fact that someone like her was looking at him like that. But as she smiled even more brightly at him, he couldn’t see anything different about her at all. She just seemed like the kind of mother any boy would wish to have. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she continued with a light laugh. “Well, everyone has, haven’t they? But Harry hasn’t stopped talking about you all summer.”

 

Draco couldn’t help looking to Potter at this, and watched him roll his eyes even as a faint blush stained his cheeks beneath his glasses. “Mum, I was only telling you what a git he was.”

 

“Language, Harry. Well Mr Malfoy,” Mrs Potter squeezed his shoulder and stepped back to her son. “I hope we have cause to meet again soon.” Draco was saved from having to come up with a reply by the arrival of a man with glasses and black hair in the same dishevelled state as Potter’s. He bumped into Draco, upsetting the cauldron at his feet and spilling Pansy’s new books on the floor. “James! Watch where you’re going,” Mrs Potter admonished the man.

 

“Sorry Lily,” the man said, righting Draco’s cauldron and shoving the books back inside. “Sorry young man,” he smiled at Draco, his eyes sliding up to the scar on his temple before standing up straight. “Arthur said he’s going to meet us in the Leaky for a drink once we’re finished, and he’s asked that you come along with us, Ron, Ginny.”

 

Weasley and the little red-headed girl both nodded, and Mr and Mrs Potter swept out of the shop. Potter turned on his heel as he followed them out, his friends on either side of him. “See you at school, Malfoy,” he said as he backed away. “Can’t wait to see your face when we smash you in Quidditch this year.”

 

“Hired someone to catch the Snitch for you, then?” Blaise called out. “Cause that’s the only chance you have of winning this year.”

  
“Maybe I’ve got an ace up my sleeve this year,” Potter replied and ducked out of the shop back onto the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. Draco wasn’t sure he liked the smug smirk on Potter’s face as he disappeared into the crowd.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

Draco’s second year of school started out much the same as first year had, with the notable exception of Blaise and himself arriving by a flying horse drawn carriage instead of the Hogwarts Express. Apart from being caught by Professor Black and not being allowed to attend the welcome feast as punishment, all the experience did was boost his popularity a little more, which Draco wasn’t going to complain about any time soon.

 

But before long, weird things started to happen, and unlike the previous year where Draco and his friends had been alone in their quest to find the Philosopher’s Stone, this year the entire school was aware that something scary was going on. Students and animals were being attacked, and even the ghosts weren’t immune. And if that wasn’t enough, Pansy had started to act very strange, and both Blaise and Draco were starting to worry about how quiet she had become.

 

But worst of all for Draco, were the rumours about him that had started to spread across the school like wildfire. For the first time since his arrival in the wizarding world, the attention he was receiving was decidedly negative. The Gryffindors especially watched him with suspicion in their eyes, and all around Draco were whispers that he was the one responsible for all of the attacks. Instead of looking at him and wondering how he could have managed to survive Dumbledore’s attack on him, people around him were now wondering if he had only managed to survive because he was a Dark Wizard intent on getting rid of all Muggleborns, and the muttering that went on behind backs and underneath hands now wondered if Dumbledore had been right to try and kill him as a child.

 

The rumours that had apparently been circulating a few years before Draco was born were back with a vengeance, and now all pureblooded children were looked upon with suspicion, and none more so than Draco. He didn’t understand it himself; what could being a pureblood have to do with a connection to dark magic? He’d written to Severus for an explanation, and had been told in no uncertain terms that the rumours were nothing more than an attempt to disparage supporters of pureblood lines, and that he was to ignore it all and pay attention to his studies. Draco had filed away the information and promptly ignored the rest of the letter.

 

With Blaise’s help, Draco found himself once more looking into the strange happenings, all the while wondering how he always seemed to be dragged into whatever was going on. The two boys worried about Pansy, who had seemed to withdraw from them both shortly after the beginning of term, and began to look more tired and drawn as time went on. But there really wasn’t much they could do without Pansy there to elbow them and tell them how to do things properly, and it was only once the school was in danger of being closed and Pansy disappeared one night that everything came to a head.

 

Somehow Draco found himself stuck in a chamber nobody had known had even existed, with a drained and unconscious Pansy and an Obliviated Potions professor, fighting a Basilisk with the sword Blaise had liberated from the display case in the Trophy Room. Draco had been almost certain that he was going to die down in that smelly, damp chamber and he’d had a moment of deep despair at thinking that he would be forever more talked about as a Dark Wizard rather than a miracle child who had survived the Killing Curse, and then he’d accidentally managed to stab the sword right through the strange little diary that Pansy had been writing in all year.

 

And all at once it was all over. The plot to have the possessed diary control a Pureblood and make them attack Muggleborns in the school had been thwarted. Had the plan worked, Pansy’s mother’s efforts to revoke the Pureblood Marriage Law would have been sunk, and her entire family would have been blamed for the attacks. The Basilisk had been defeated and, most importantly, Draco was once again the hero of the school. He and Blaise had celebrated having Pansy back to her normal self during the end of term feast, all the while casting smug looks back at the Golden Trio under the green and silver hangings of Slytherin House colours in honour of their second House Cup win.

  
Potter had scowled at Draco before turning his back to the Slytherin table for the rest of the feast, and for once Draco hadn’t minded being ignored by the Gryffindor Prince. He was too busy basking in the attentions of the rest of the school to really care.

 

~~*~~

Year Three

~~*~~

Draco’s summer holidays before third year found him trying to melt into the wallpaper as Aunt Bellatrix and Uncle Rodolphus entertained Rodolphus’s brother, Rabastan. Draco didn’t like Rabastan, and the feeling was entirely mutual, but for some reason he liked to insist on Draco’s presence at all times while he stayed with his brother. In the past, Uncle Rabastan had liked to sit in the parlour of their dilapidated old house, eyeing Draco with distaste as he mumbled unintelligible words to Bellatrix and Rodolphus. He used to take great delight in ordering Draco around like a housemaid, and any visit of his would inevitably lead to Aunt Bellatrix and Uncle Rodolphus being more mean to Draco than usual.

 

But this year was different, because they were back in the wizarding world and now Draco understood most of the mutterings from Uncle Rabastan. Aunt Bellatrix, allowed to do magic again, had taken to ignoring Draco as much as possible, which was more than alright with him. Six weeks of being alone was a small price to pay for being able to go to Hogwarts for the rest of the year. But then Uncle Rabastan had turned up, and he had spent his first two weeks demanding Draco’s presence, just to look at him with distaste and mumble under his breath about how it was all Draco’s fault their family had fallen so far in repute. Draco didn’t really understand any of this - it wasn’t like any of it had been his fault, and it certainly had nothing to do with him that Professor Riddle had told the Lestranges to hide out in the Muggle world until Draco was old enough to attend Hogwarts. But he knew that the way to get through Rabastan’s visit without being thrown into a cupboard or forced to clean the kitchen floor was to just sit still and pretend to listen to all the nasty things being said about him. So he sat in the uncomfortable wooden chair in the parlour for hours at a time, going through his copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ that Blaise had bought him for his birthday and pretended to listen to Rabastan’s thinly veiled insults and boring conversations with Bellatrix about things going on at the Ministry.

 

“Have you spoken to Riddle recently?” Rabastan asked Bellatrix, once he had finally finished his usual sneering rundown on all of Draco’s many, many faults.

 

Bellatrix shrugged. “Not since he finally allowed Rodolphus and myself to re-enter our world, no.” She refilled Rabastan’s teacup with a flick of her wand. Draco was grateful .that she seemed to have missed being able to use magic so much that she kept forgetting to order Draco to do all these things for her. “Why do you ask?”

 

“There have been some rumblings at the Ministry,” Rabastan replied. Draco kept his head down, pretending to read, but was listening closely. “Yaxley thinks she caught sight of him a few days ago, just outside Godric’s Hollow.”

 

“Caught sight of who?” Bellatrix leaned forward in her seat, frowning. “You don’t mean Dumbledore?”

 

Rabastan opened his mouth, and then suddenly seemed to remember Draco, who was still sitting in the uncomfortable chair furthest from the fire. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” he snapped.

 

“Go and clean the kitchen,” Bellatrix said, giving Draco the look that he had quickly come to recognise as something he should never try to argue with, unless he wanted one of her more severe punishments. He got up and swiftly left the room, hoping to lean against the door and hear more of their conversation. But once the heavy oak door closed, he couldn’t hear a thing. He sighed and walked slowly down the stone steps to the dingy kitchen. He wondered if Pansy’s mother would know anything about what was happening at the Ministry, and he resolved to owl Pansy about it that evening. He couldn’t wait for the holidays to be over and be back with his friends.

  
Her return owl arrived the day before school began. She sounded rather frustrated, and her terse reply held only two sentences: _I’ve asked and I’ve asked, but all mum will tell me is that it has something to do with Hogwarts. I suppose we’ll find out soon enough._

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

Third year was even more exciting than the last two years had been, despite the Dementors that could be seen lurking at all the entrances to the school, and for one specific reason. Third year students and above were permitted to walk into Hogsmeade a few weekends a year, where they could spend their time in the all wizarding village, visiting the shops and hanging out in the pub, the Three Broomsticks. Draco had been looking forward to his first trip there since the very beginning of term, and finally the day arrived, cold but bright. Draco leapt out of bed and pulled on his warmest clothes, happily thinking of all the things that he and his friends would get to do that day.

 

A quick glance at the Gryffindor table as he sat down to breakfast was enough to send his already high spirits soaring through the roof. Potter sat there with his friends, picking morosely at a sausage while his friends gave him sympathetic looks. After accidentally setting fire to a pair of curtains in Transfiguration on Thursday, Professor McGonagall had loudly informed Potter that instead of attending Hogsmeade with his friends that weekend, he would be helping her reorganise her bookshelves. Draco had laughed himself almost sick at the look of horror on Potter’s face, and seeing him now, watching as his friends got ready to leave the castle without him, made Draco’s already good day one of the best he had ever had.

 

He got up from the Slytherin table with Pansy and Blaise, making sure to catch Potter’s eye and smirk as they passed him by. Potter scowled back, and Draco couldn’t keep the grin off his face as they lined up with the other students, waiting while Filch double checked all of the permission slips, muttering to himself as he did so.

 

“Look at you,” Pansy drawled, arching an eyebrow as Draco practically danced in place. “I wouldn’t have thought a day out in the snow would get you this excited.”

 

Draco just shrugged, smirk firmly in place. “It’s a nice day. The sun is shining, we get to get out of the castle for a while, and Potter’s in detention all morning. Why shouldn’t I be excited?”

 

Pansy rolled her eyes. “I might have known it had something to do with Potter. You know, Draco,” she said as she handed her permission slip to Filch with a fake smile. “If I didn’t know any better, I would start to wonder about this supposed ‘rivalry’ of yours.” She skipped quickly down the steps, leaving Draco to splutter as he raced after her.

 

They spent a pleasant morning together, once they got past the Dementors guarding the school gates and the feeling of cold and misery left them. They walked slowly down the snow covered lane towards Hogsmeade, stopping occasionally to have snowball fights with each other. Draco and Pansy teamed up against Blaise, much to his considerable protest, and by the time they reached the picturesque village, all their hands were blue with cold, and Blaise was shivering even through his thick winter cloak.

 

“Let’s warm up with a Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks, and then we can go into Honeydukes,” Pansy said, leading the way into the pub. “I’m almost out of Chocolate Frogs.”

 

“We can’t have that,” Blaise mumbled under his breath, and he and Draco shared an amused look before following their friend inside. Pansy was well known amongst the whole of Slytherin House for her addiction to the chocolate.

 

The warmth from the fire and the mugs of hot Butterbeer soon had their hands and faces thawing out nicely, and before too long their little group were ready to brave the snow once more in order to feed Pansy’s chocolate habit. Draco looked out through the flurries of snow as they stepped back into the cold, and couldn’t help his smirk as he recognised the two thirds of the Golden Trio not currently held up in detention. They looked kind of sad and dejected without their leader to hover around, as they made their slow way back up towards the castle. Draco nudged Blaise, who turned and followed his gaze.

 

“I was thinking maybe we should head back, as soon as we’re done with Honeydukes,” Draco murmured, and Blaise’s smile turned just a little bit evil.

 

“Miss Potter that much already, do you?” Pansy said, pushing open the door to the sweet shop and glaring at a Hufflepuff fifth year who was in her way. “I suppose we should, it’s really too cold to stay out here much longer anyway,” she continued, before Draco could reply.

 

The shop was crowded, and it took longer than Draco liked for Pansy to find enough Chocolate Frogs to last her until Christmas and then pay for them, but he didn’t want to complain in case she made yet more remarks about Potter that he didn’t really understand but definitely took offence to. By the time they managed to force their way back outside and into the cold, Weasley and Granger were nowhere in sight, and the heavily falling snow had eradicated any footsteps. Draco sighed at the missed opportunity and led Blaise and Pansy through the snow back towards Hogwarts. Hopefully there would be hot chocolate at dinner tonight; his hands were already beginning to resemble icicles once more.

 

As they were slowly walking back, Blaise trying to cajole Pansy into giving him one of her chocolate frogs while she point blank refused, Draco noticed a small trail leading into the woods. “Hey,” he said, stopping to take a closer look. “What’s down here?”

 

“The Shrieking Shack,” Pansy mumbled around a mouthful of frog. Blaise gave her a baleful look, and she smiled, showing her chocolate covered teeth.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“It’s supposed to be one of the most haunted buildings in Britain,” Blaise said, walking closer to the trail. “It’s been abandoned for decades, but apparently you can hear the wails and screams all the way up in the village.” He raised a dark, delicate eyebrow. “Shall we go and take a look?”

 

Draco paled; going to have a look at one of the most haunted places in the country didn’t sound like a good idea to him, but he couldn’t say no without it seeming like he was scared.

 

“Might as well,” Pansy shrugged, and Draco swallowed hard as he followed them both down the snow covered trail.

 

It wasn’t long before Draco could swear he could hear faint mutterings, and his heart started pounding in response. But then, he recognised one of the voices and his fear melted away, replaced instead with satisfaction. “It’s Weasley and Granger,” he whispered to the others, and pushed in front of them so that he was leading their little group.

 

The Shrieking Shack looked like any dilapidated old cabin, complete with sagging front porch and half-crumbled chimney. It sat in the small clearing, surrounded by a wire fence, everywhere covered with snow. It was so unremarkable that Draco hardly even glanced at it before his gaze zeroed in on the two Gryffindors leaning against the gate. Weasley’s bright ginger hair clashed horribly with the red scarf he was wearing, and Granger’s bushy hair was only slightly tamed by the hat on her head.

 

“I’m not sure a trip to a haunted house is the sort of date I’d take a girl on, Weasley, but then, I have this little thing called class.”

 

Both Weasley and Granger spun around on the spot. “Get lost, Malfoy,” Weasley said with an ugly scowl.

 

Draco just smirked back. “Sorry, was I interrupting something? About to make your move, Weaselby?”

 

“He said, get lost, Malfoy,” Granger said, standing up straight and glaring at Draco.

 

Draco sighed dramatically. “Such brilliant repartee. Looks as though Potter really is good for something. At least he can come up with a halfway decent insult.”

 

Granger took a step closer, but before she could say anything, Draco suddenly felt a large, wet _slap_ against the back of his head. He whirled on the spot, looking for the culprit even as he raised a hand to pull clumps of snow from his hair. Both Blaise and Pansy were looking shocked, and Draco turned quickly back to the two Gryffindors, who looked as confused as his friends. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he danced backwards, narrowly avoiding being hit by another snowball, let loose towards him by a seemingly invisible assailant. Draco looked back at Weasley and Granger, who were suddenly looking less confused, even a bit amused. Draco wondered briefly if they had somehow managed to bewitch the snowballs to fly at him, but he was too busy trying to dodge the next influx of projectiles to pay the idea much thought. He jumped to the right to avoid yet another snowball, and his legs knocked into something, something that _wasn’t there._ His feet slipped out from beneath him in his surprise, and as he fell, his fingers grasped an invisible _something_ , and he pulled it down with him.

 

Pansy gasped, and Draco looked up from his half crouch on the ground and right into Potter’s face. Given that Potter was supposed to be in detention, that was surprising enough, but what was more astonishing was that they could only see Potter's face and nothing else. Potter’s eyes widened, and then he suddenly disappeared again. Draco stared at the spot where Potter’s face had been for a long moment.

 

“Quite haunted up here, isn’t it?” Weasley said, his voice trembling from suppressed laughter.

 

Draco pulled himself up and glared at the Gryffindors, before staring around the clearing, trying to catch one last glimpse of Potter’s disembodied head.

 

“Come on, Draco, I’m freezing my nuts off out here,” Blaise finally said to break the silence.

  
Draco nodded, cast one last dark look at Weasley and Granger, and followed Blaise and Pansy back down the trail to the main path. Somehow, Potter had managed to get out of the castle despite having detention. And somehow, he had made himself invisible to do it. Draco was going to find out how. And he was going to get Potter back for making him look like a fool while he was doing it.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

Draco didn’t manage to find out how Potter had managed to get out of the castle, nor did he work out how he’d managed to make himself invisible. He did however, have a chance at getting him back during the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match that took place just after Christmas.

 

The snow had long since turned to grey slush on the ground, and instead of flurries of white, the sky was filled with driving sheets of rain. But not even heavy rain stopped Quidditch matches, of course, for which Draco was grateful. When it rained, Potter had to contend with his glasses obscuring his vision, which gave Draco the advantage.

 

It was a testament to just how much the students loved Quidditch matches, considering that almost the entire school battled their way across the rain soaked grass to get to the stands. They sat in groups of three and four, huddled together under umbrellas that stood little chance against the howling winds that kept threatening to turn them inside out. Thunder growled across the sky so loudly that Draco completely missed Madam Hooch’s starting whistle, and only kicked off from the ground at the sound of the roar of the crowd. He flew up high, hoping to find a break in the clouds so he would be able to look for the Snitch better. Unfortunately Potter had had the same idea.

 

“I’m surprised you came out in this, Malfoy,” Potter shouted, the wind whipping the words from his mouth. “Aren’t you worried about what this weather will do to your hair?”

 

“Can’t make it look any worse than yours, Potter,” Draco called back. “You want to be careful, I hear kneazles tend to bite quite a bit if someone messes up their nest.” And then he flew off to the other side of the pitch, hoping to lose Potter in the clouds. He couldn’t let Potter win this match; Quidditch was the one area in which he could humiliate Potter and have the whole school witness it.

 

He didn’t notice that anything was different, at first. All he could feel was the rush of adrenalin as he followed Potter into a dive for the Snitch, his heavier broom giving him the edge in speed as they spiralled down through the wind and rain. His attention was so focused on the fluttering ball only inches away from him, and he watched with a sort of detached awareness as Potter suddenly slid sideways off of his broom. It was only after his fingers had closed around the cold metal that he realised what had happened.

 

The entire Quidditch pitch was held in an eery silence, the students all seeming to hold their breath as Potter tumbled through the air. Draco’s breath formed in puffs of white in front of him, and the cold feeling soaked through his robes, down past his skin and to his very bones. And then he realised: Dementors were on the pitch.

 

Apart from walking past them on the trip to Hogsmeade, Draco hadn’t had much cause to be around the Dementors floating sentinel at the edges of the school. A prefect had almost run him over on the Hogwarts Express running from them, and Draco had seized the opportunity to duck into a Ravenclaw filled compartment in order to avoid them. He’d heard, of course, that Potter had had an adverse reaction to their presence, and had taken great delight in mocking him for it the first few weeks of term. But hearing about it and seeing it were two very different things.

 

Draco wanted to close his eyes, wanted to look away from the horror of watching Potter crash into the ground, but it was as though he was transfixed. Distantly, he heard Professor Riddle shouting something, but the presence of the Dementors sucked away the sound as they did everything else. And then suddenly they were moving away, and Draco’s heart eased its vice like grip as both the cold leached away and Potter’s falling body slowed its momentum.

 

He still landed on the frozen grass with a thump that even Draco could hear, and he couldn’t stop looking down and watching as Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey raced onto the pitch even as the rest of the Slytherin team gathered around him in the air, cheering their win.

  
Draco had been hoping for something like this; for Potter to be utterly humiliated while the whole school looked on, and for Draco to be the centre of attention as his house celebrated him. But as he watched Madam Pomfrey conjure a stretcher and help McGonagall slide Potter onto it and walk him up to the castle, he found himself wondering why he had ever thought this moment would feel good.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

The stone floor was cold beneath his feet, and Draco wished he had thought to grab a pair of slippers before sneaking out of the common room in the middle of the night. But he’d stupidly reasoned with himself that bare feet would make less noise on the flagstones as he crept through the darkened hallways, and so now he had no choice but to either put up with the aching cold that stretched up from his toes to his ankles, or go back to bed.

 

And really, he thought to himself as he dithered outside the double doors that led to the hospital wing, in bed is really where he ought to be. He had no explanation for why he was currently standing in the corridor in his pyjamas and bathrobe with freezing cold feet. He just... couldn’t sleep. He had tossed and turned for hours, listening to the steady snores of his dorm mates, and the image of Potter falling from his broom recycling itself over and over in his mind. And so now he found himself here, ear pressed against the door as he tried to work out if Madam Pomfrey was still up and his feet freezing themselves to the floor. But if he could just _talk_ to Potter, then maybe his curiosity would be satisfied and he could finally get some sleep.

 

Being curious, however, didn’t automatically lend itself to being brave, and so Draco’s heartbeat was pounding in his throat as he tentatively pushed open the door to the hospital wing. The room was bathed in moonlight from the tall arched windows, and the wooden floor shone silver grey in reflection. The white curtains separating the beds into cubicles were all drawn back, showing two rows of beds with their sheets starched and stretched taut across the corners. All that is, except for the bed in the far left hand corner. Draco cursed to himself; he should have known that Potter’s bed would be the one closest to Madam Pomfrey’s room.

 

He could go back to bed. He _should_ go back; just let the door slide shut again and back away down the hall, back to his spell-warmed sheets and the comforting sound of Blaise’s snoring. He took a step back, his bare foot sliding silently across the wooden floor, and then he heard it; a little sigh.

 

Potter was awake.

 

Well, that settled that, then. There was no way Draco could go back and get to sleep now; he simply _had_ to know if Potter was awake because of the same reasons he was. He swallowed hard, and stepped fully into the long room, letting the door swish quietly closed behind him. Keeping his eyes on the door to Madam Pomfrey’s room, he slowly edged towards the curtain screening Potter’s bed. He was so busy listening for any sound indicating that Madam Pomfrey was going to suddenly swoop out of her room that he didn’t notice until it was too late that he was heading for the bed next to Potter’s. His hip banged painfully into the corner of the bed, and the legs screeched loudly against the floor. Draco froze and clenched his eyes shut, a childish action that said that if he wasn’t looking then he couldn’t be seen. And then he heard Potter laugh.

 

“Mate, if that’s you being subtle, then I’d give a career as a spy a miss, if I were you.”

 

Draco’s eyes flew open. Something warm and strange curled beneath his ribs at the thought of being called _mate_ by Potter, and he frowned. It was probably just horror. He took the last step around the curtain and finally laid his eyes on Potter, sitting half reclined in the small hospital bed, a magazine in one hand and his wand tip glowing with a Lumos in the other. He took some satisfaction in the way Potter’s eyes widened as he saw him, until the idiot opened his mouth.

 

“Malfoy? What the hell are you doing here?”

 

Draco winced and shot a nervous glance at Madam Pomfrey’s door. “Shut up, you idiot!”

 

Potter’s surprised expression slowly morphed into something like bemusement, and he smirked slightly at Draco. The smug smile didn’t suit him. “Did you come here to check up on me?”

 

“No!” Draco shuffled his still freezing feet and hugged his robe closer to his body. “I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all. I went for a walk.”

 

Potter kept smiling, and it irritated Draco. “Right. And your walk somehow brought you here. Where you knew I would be.” He bit his lip and raised his eyebrow. “All because you couldn’t sleep.”

 

“You’re not sleeping either,” Draco whispered back furiously, feeling a faint flush appearing on his cheek as he recognised the lameness of his rejoinder. Although it appeared to have had the desired response. The smile slipped from Potter’s lips, and he looked down at his lap, a small frown on his face. Draco took a tentative step closer, because he suspected that that frown was the reason why he was having just as much trouble getting a good night’s rest as Potter.

 

“Bloody Dementors,” Potter mumbled, and Draco knew he was right.

 

“I don’t know much about them,” Draco lied. He had looked up everything about them that he could find almost as soon as they had arrived at school, furious at the fact that once again he was surrounded by people who knew more about their world than he did. But maybe, if he acted ignorant around Potter, he would take the opportunity to lord it over Draco, and perhaps inadvertently satiate Draco’s curiosity at the same time.

 

“Neither did I, really,” Potter murmured, staring past Draco with a blank expression on his face. “I mean, I just knew what everyone knew; that they guard Azkaban.” Draco swallowed against a sneer trying to work its way onto his face. Of course Potter would rub it in. “But I didn’t know they could do _that._ ”

 

“Do what, exactly?” Draco knew what they did to him; took away all warmth, made him feel as though happiness was a thing he would never experience again, took him back to moments alone in his room, wondering if anyone would ever rescue him from that deep, dark despair. But he wanted to know what they did to Potter, why they made him faint on the Hogwarts Express, why he fell from his broom to almost certain death during their Quidditch match. Why this missing information was keeping Draco up at night.

 

“There was a few months, when I was a kid,” Potter said quietly, and Draco didn’t think he even realised just who he was talking to. “My mum and dad had to go away for a few months, and the only ones who could look after me was mum’s sister. It was horrible, they were all horrible to me, and I remember thinking how I just wanted my parents to come back and take me home.” He focused his gaze on Draco finally, and his eyes were wide with fear. “The Dementors take me back there, and it just feels so real. And whenever they’re near me all I can think is that if something had happened to my parents, if they hadn’t been able to come back to get me, that that’s what my life would have been like.”

 

Draco stared at him, unable to believe that he actually had something in common with Potter. He knew all about being left in the care of his mother’s sister, and about how awful and uncaring that situation could be. He was horrified to realise that he actually felt something close to sympathy for Potter, and his hand itched to reach out and offer him some comfort. He balled his hands into fists against his robe.

 

“What about you?” Potter said suddenly.

 

Draco frowned. “What about me?” His voice came out more defensive than he liked, and he took a deep breath to calm himself.

 

“Well, you must have some bad things that you remember when the Dementors are around, right?” Potter looked just as curious as Draco had been, and he didn’t like it. He shrugged.

 

“I guess. Not enough to make me pass out though.” He lifted his lips in a familiar sneer. “Maybe you’re just more sensitive than me.”

 

Potter rolled his eyes and snorted. “More human, more like.”

 

“It’s okay, you know. You can’t help being a big baby.”

 

“You can’t help being a selfish prat!”

 

Draco smirked; the weird need to comfort Potter had passed, and they were now back to petty insults. Just the way he liked it. “Have fun sleeping in this big room all by yourself, Potter. Don’t let the shadows scare you.” He took a step back and turned away.

 

“I hope Filch catches you!” Potter whispered furiously at his retreating back.

 

Draco had just reached the door when he heard Potter calling his name. He looked back, one hand on the doorknob, to see Potter kneeling up on his bed, his dark tousled head peeking out from behind the curtain.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You caught the Snitch. Congratulations.”

 

Draco was so surprised he found himself smiling back at the boy. Potter had never congratulated him before. Of course, then he had to go and ruin it.

 

“I’ll win next time though.”

  
Draco let himself out of the hospital wing with a snort.

 

~~*~~

Year Four

~~*~~

It was dark in the woods, darker than it had been earlier, and Draco realised that they must have veered away from the path at some point in their panic. He could barely see Pansy, although he could hear her gasping breaths as she scrambled up the muddy slope in front of him. Blaise was behind him, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath as they slipped and slid across the mossy and wet ground.

 

“Stop. Pansy, stop,” Draco gasped out, his fingers curling around the slim trunk of a tree and holding on tightly. “I think we’re fine here.”

 

“Fine?” Pansy whispered furiously, her heel connecting painfully with Draco’s foot as she whirled on him. “We’re Purebloods, Draco, none of us are _fine_ right now.”

 

“Calm down, Pans,” Blaise said over Draco’s shoulder, leaning against the tree to catch his breath. “Draco’s right, we should stop. At least so that we can hear if anyone’s coming.”

 

Pansy huffed but didn’t disagree, and together they all slumped down at the base of the tree, each breathing heavily as they tried to will their heartbeats to slow down. As Draco’s eyes slowly adjusted, he realised that it wasn’t actually as dark beneath the canopy of trees as his panic had led him to believe. Moonlight danced off the leaves above him, filtering down in scattered splashes to the ground below. He squinted off into the distance, and he thought he could see the soft fairy lights that marked the path to the Quidditch stadium. They hadn’t veered too far off course then. Draco was just starting to wonder if maybe Pansy was right and that they should try to get further away from the path, when Blaise’s wand lit up with a sudden whispered _Lumos._

 

“Are you crazy?” Pansy reached across Draco, trying to slap Blaise. “Put that out! Someone could see!”

 

“Shut up for a second, Pans, and listen,” Blaise whispered back, and they all fell quiet, straining their ears in the silence.

 

“I don’t hear anything.”

 

“My point exactly, Pansy. We’re fine here for a bit.”

 

Pansy’s scowl was lit up from Blaise’s lit wand tip, and she sneered at him. “No, I mean, I can’t hear anything at all. The screaming’s stopped.”

 

Draco lifted his chin in surprise, and he realised that Pansy was right. They had been running from all the yelling and shouting, the tents that had been trampled and bonfires that had been re-lit and left to catch the ground beneath them on fire. At first, they had simply thought that it was the Irish supporters, carrying on their celebrations of winning the World Cup, until they’d realised that all the noise was actually people screaming in fear. Draco, Blaise and Pansy had been roughly pushed out of their opulent tent by Blaise’s mother’s newest paramour, and told in no uncertain terms to run and find cover in the trees while Mr Khumalo tried to find out what was going on.

 

The campsite had been utter chaos; people running with buckets of water to put out tents that had caught fire, parents shouting for their children and little kids crying in fear. And above it all, was the sound of laughter and merriment coming from a group of darkly clad witches and wizards as they marched across the field.

 

Pansy had gasped suddenly, and raised a trembling finger to point at the sky. A large symbol rose above their heads, made out of ghostly white cloud and forming a triangle, with a circle inside, a line bisecting them both. “It’s the Light Mark,” she had whispered tremulously.

 

“Shit,” Blaise swore, and grabbed Pansy by the wrist, pulling her towards the treeline. “Come on, we’ve got to find a place to hide.”

 

“Who are they?” Draco had asked as he stumbled along behind them, glancing back every so often to the group still marching across the field.

 

“Blood Savers,” Blaise said grimly, pushing Pansy ahead and waiting for Draco to catch up. “They’re Dumbledore’s supporters.” He looked up at the sky and swallowed. “That’s his Mark.”

 

Draco had nearly stumbled at the name, and he turned around fearfully. “What does that mean? Is he back?”

 

Blaise shook his head. “I don’t know.”

 

“And I don’t care,” Pansy shot back at them before disappearing behind a clump of trees. “All I care about is getting as far away as I possibly can, now move it!”

 

They had stumbled along together for what seemed like hours, Draco and Blaise following Pansy without a word as she led them away from the path and further into the dark woods. Blaise had slipped and fallen more than once, and Draco was certain he’d scraped his palm rather badly on a jutting rock as he’d tried to break one of his own falls. And now they all sat around the trunk of a small tree, listening desperately for sounds of life.

 

“Maybe they’ve stopped?” Blaise asked hopefully. “Maybe the Ministry workers got to them.”

 

“Or maybe they just got bored with hunting Purebloods for the night,” Pansy replied scathingly.

 

Draco didn’t join in; he was too busy wondering what the sight of the Light Mark meant. Did it mean that Dumbledore was finally going to come out of hiding? Suddenly Draco found himself wishing he hadn’t come to the Quidditch World Cup. Even being back with his aunt and uncle would be better than this fear he was experiencing.

 

“Do you think we should start heading back?” Pansy whispered. “Your mum’s boyfriend might be looking for us.”

 

Blaise snorted. “If he’s managed to spare a thought for anything other than how to get in mother’s knickers, I’ll be very surprised.”

 

“Charming, Blaise.” Pansy wrinkled her nose in disgust and stood up slowly. “We should make our way back to the campsite. I swear to Merlin, if anything’s happened to my new Gladrags handbag, I will hex someone.”

 

Draco had just hauled himself up into a standing position when the sound of leaves rustling caught his attention. “What’s that?” He whispered to Blaise, sliding around the tree to give himself more cover.

 

Blaise jumped to his feet and reached out a hand to Pansy, pointing his still lit wand towards the bush where the noise was coming from. The leaves shivered and then parted, and out stumbled three people. The boy in front stared at them all for a long moment, before turning his back on them.

 

“‘We should go back,’ she says. ‘People might be lost and need help,’ she says. And who do we run into?” Weasley shook his head, red hair flashing a sickly green in the light from Blaise’s wand.

 

“What makes you think anyone would want help from you, anyway?” Pansy asked, her hand sliding down to her wand in her pocket. “After all, it’s your parents out there, scaring people half to death, right?”

 

“I would have thought you’d all be out there with them, instead of hiding in here with the rest of us,” Blaise chimed in. “After all, you’re all just junior Blood Savers, aren’t you?”

 

Weasley opened his mouth to respond, but Granger interrupted him. “Let’s just go, we need to find your parents.” She grabbed his arm and pulled, and the three of them edged their way out of the little clearing back towards the main path.

 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Blaise called after them. “Just listen to your little Mudblood girlfriend, Weasley.”

 

“Oi! Don’t call her that!”

 

“Which one?” Draco asked, amused. “Mudblood, or your girlfriend?” Pansy snickered next to him.

 

Weasley took a menacing step closer to them, but Potter grabbed his shoulder. “Shut up, Malfoy,” he said loudly, then leaned forward to murmur in Weasley’s ear. “Just leave it, Ron, they’re not worth it.”

 

Led by Granger, the three of them made their way through the trees back to the path, and Draco sighed in silent relief. Really, Blaise had such a mouth on him, and if anything had happened it would have been three against three. Those odds were a little too even for Draco’s liking.

 

“Come on,” he said, stepping forward without waiting for them to follow him. “Let’s get back and then get the hell out of here. I’m starving.”

  
By the time they’d got out of the woods and found Mr Khumalo, most of the campers had made their way back to the field and were hurriedly packing away their things. Mr Khumalo managed to find them an emergency portkey, and Draco looked up at the slowly lightening sky as he waited for it to activate. The Light Mark had finally faded, and Draco found himself wondering just what exactly had scared him so much.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

The hospital wing had finally quietened down after the uproar of the third TriWizard Task. Pansy and Blaise had been ordered back to Slytherin house by a very irate McGonagall, and the various spectators trying to get through the doors to catch a glimpse of him had found themselves on the end of some rather nasty hexes that Professor Black had set up to keep unwanted visitors out. Madam Pomfrey had finally finished fretting over him after he’d managed to convince her that all he needed was to be left alone to sleep. He had been surprised it had worked, because he didn’t think he would ever be able to sleep again.

 

Draco sighed loudly and listened to the sound echo across the empty room. The bed across from him was empty now, but he still couldn’t bear to look at it, and he wished Madam Pomfrey had put him in any other bed in the ward, but of course she had wanted him in the one closest to her room. He thought about getting up and closing the curtains around the bed, but he was certain his knees would give out under him if he took even a step in that direction. So instead, he stayed sitting up in his own bed, his gaze kept resolutely away from the one opposite him.

 

He sighed again, the sound quickly turning into a yawn, and he sat up straighter, arching his back and shaking his head to clear his fuzzy vision. He was so very tired, exhausted down to his very bones, and he felt as though he could sleep for a week. But he daren’t close his eyes, knowing all too well the images that would play across his eyelids the moment he did. His gaze flicked unwillingly to the vial of potion sitting on the table next to him. He’d promised Madam Pomfrey that he would drink it as soon as she left the room. He knew what it was, of course, and he knew what it was supposed to do for him, but he found himself unable to believe that any potion could be strong enough to keep the dreams that he was sure to have away while he slept. It just couldn’t be possible; what he had seen had been far too terrifying for even Dreamless Sleep to combat.

 

His eyes slipped closed against his will, and immediately the night began to replay itself behind his eyelids. The maze; Viktor Krum’s blank gaze; the Sphynx; Fleur Delacour’s blood curdling scream; the pull in his stomach and the horror as he’d realised the Cup was a portkey; the dull sound of Diggory’s head smacking against the headstone and his lifeless eyes staring up into the sky; and _him_ , standing there with that benign smile on his face, looking at Draco as though he was surprised to see him, as though he hadn’t engineered the entire TriWizard Tournament just to get Draco there, just so that he would finally have his chance to finish Draco off...

 

Draco ripped his eyes back open with a gasp, his heartbeat pounding hard against his chest as the images assaulted him all at once. He was panicking, he knew; he could feel it crawling up his throat, a desperate need to shout or scream or sob or all of the above, and he clamped down on the sensations hard, until his vision blurred and blood pounded in his ears.

 

A sudden cracking noise and a whispered curse brought him out of his panic with a jump, and Draco grabbed for his wand, his fingers skimming the vial of potion and making it wobble dangerously. For a wild moment, he thought the sound had come from the bed opposite, and he was thrown backwards a few hours earlier, to Diggory’s body lying still and cold, Mr Diggory muffling his sobs in his hands as his wife stared in pale faced shock. Then movement caught his eye, and Draco turned and looked on in astonishment as he watched Potter struggling to get himself out of the Leglocker Curse.

 

“God damn it, Sirius,” Potter mumbled under his breath, brandishing his wand in a complicated gesture.

 

“I think that was put there to keep unwanted people out,” Draco said, surprising himself with how steady his voice came out.

 

Potter looked up just as his legs fell apart, and he snorted as he scrambled up from the floor. “Yeah, I guessed as much,” he said, pocketing his wand and looking back at the doors warily. “It’s a good thing he taught me the counter curse, really.”

 

He walked further into the room, and Draco raised an eyebrow. “Did you miss the part where I said ‘unwanted’, Potter?”

 

“Nope.” Potter grinned at him, came a step closer.

 

Draco looked away. “What are you doing here, Potter?”

 

“You came to see me the last time I was in the hospital. I thought I’d return the favour,” Potter said, his voice quiet. “Are you alright?”

 

“Peachy,” Draco drawled, his eyes looking everywhere but at Potter. Or the empty bed across from him.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Even if I did, why on earth would you think I’d talk to you?” Draco scoffed.

 

Potter shrugged. “I talked to you last year.”

 

“What you foolishly blurt out to people is your own problem, Potter, but you can bet your last Galleon you’ll never find me spilling my guts to a Gryffindor, and least of all to you.”

 

“I was there,” Potter said quietly, ignoring Draco’s outburst. “When you came back, I mean. I was right near the front. I saw Cedric...”

 

Before he could stop himself, Draco looked over at the empty bed opposite him, and then flinched violently away. “Shut up, Potter,” he hissed.

 

Potter stopped talking, but he walked right up to the side of Draco’s bed. He picked up the vial and rolled it between his fingers. “My mum always says that the best cure for anything is a good night’s sleep. She says everything seems less scary when you’re fully rested.” He placed the sleeping potion carefully on the bed sheet, next to Draco’s clenched hand. “Get some sleep, Malfoy.”

 

He stepped back again, right to the end of the bed and crossed his arms. Draco waited, but when it became obvious that Potter wasn’t going to be leaving anytime soon, he sighed and picked up the vial of purple liquid. His eyes flicked unwillingly over to the empty bed and he flinched again, then pulled out the cork and raised the glass to his lips. The Dreamless Sleep started to take immediate effect, and he barely had time to swallow the entire dose before he felt his eyelids drooping and his body relaxing. He slid down under the sheets and let his head find his pillow, before letting the cool darkness float him away into oblivion.

  
When he awoke a few hours later, Madam Pomfrey was still nowhere to be seen, and the curtains were pulled tight around the bed opposite him. Draco breathed out a sigh of relief.

 

~~*~~

Year Five

~~*~~

Draco was pretty much frozen to his broom by the time he finally made it down onto the Quidditch pitch. He’d _told_ Flint that it was too cloudy to practise with the actual snitch, but the idiot hadn’t listened to him, just let the tiny golden ball fly out into the rapidly darkening evening and shouted at Draco to _get on with it._ Night had fallen fully by the time he’d even been able to spot the damn thing, and he’d then had to chase it around the pitch for a full two hours before he had finally managed to snag it with the tips of his frozen fingers.

 

Of course, the rest of the team had finished practise by then, and all gone through the locker rooms and back up to the castle, leaving Draco with the task of cleaning up after them. Tossers. They hadn’t even bothered to put the balls back in the shed.

 

He unstuck his hands from his broom and blew on his fingers, fruitlessly trying to warm them up. He thought his skin might actually have fused to the freezing little golden ball. He scowled down at it. Why Flint insisted on having night time practises in the middle of bloody December Draco had no clue. Unless it was just to annoy the hell out of the team. When it came to Flint, anything was possible.

 

The snitch’s wings fluttered madly, still trying to escape, as he knelt down in the frost covered grass in front of the Quidditch box. In retaliation for his long cold flight, he shoved the thing mercilessly into its space and strapped it in, feeling a vindictive pleasure in the act. It _had_ kept him high in the clouds for most of the night; it deserved a little rough treatment. He grabbed one of the handles on the large box and pulled; try as he might, he had never been able to get the levitation spell to work properly. With his luck, he’d drop the box and let all the balls out at once, and then he really would be here all night, trying to locate them and get them back inside. It wasn’t worth the risk, so instead he resigned himself to dragging the heavy thing all the way over to the broom shed to put it away. Madam Hooch would have his nuts if they weren’t put away safely. Bloody Flint.

 

He was almost sweating by the time he finally made it to the shed, and he let go of his broom so it could fly sedately over to its resting spot amongst the rest of the fifth year brooms. Draco’s eye was pulled to Potter’s Firebolt, the only one in the shed. Because of course, Potter always had to compete with Draco. After Severus had bought Draco the newest _Stratus 2001_ at the end of third year, Potter had turned up at Kings Cross with his brand new Firebolt slung over his arm. Draco sneered at the fancy broom and hauled the ball box up to its shelf. Then he dusted off his Quidditch leathers and stepped back out into the freezing cold. God, how he hated winter.

 

“I thought that was you.”

 

Draco spun around from making sure the shed locked itself properly – Madam Hooch would skin him alive if anything went missing – and looked around for the source of the voice. He spotted him almost immediately, lounging back against the side of the shed, looking for all the world as though he’d been standing there the entire night.

 

“Potter,” Draco spat, out of habit more than any real loathing. He had far too much on his mind this year without having to deal with his constant rivalry with the irritating Gryffindor. “Have you always been this creepy, or am I only just noticing it now because you’re being creepy around me?”

 

Draco might have had other things on his mind this past term, but he’d still noticed Potter. He always did. He’d also noticed that Potter’s looks and glares he always threw Draco’s way had lost some of their animosity recently.

 

“Watching you blunder about failing to catch the snitch isn’t creepy, Malfoy, it’s just good entertainment.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes and turned towards the castle. “Run along then, Potter, go and tell all your friends how you stood out here in freezing weather just to watch me practise, see if they find it as _entertaining._ ”

 

“Malfoy, wait. That… came out wrong. I’m sorry.”

 

Potter telling him to wait did nothing more than speed up Draco’s steps, but that one word stopped him cold. Potter never apologised to him; that wasn’t how they worked. They snapped and snarled at each other, threw hexes and punches until their friends came to prise them apart, holding them back until the next time a wrong word was said, they even had the occasional sleep-deprived conversation in the hospital wing. But saying _sorry_ had never been a part of their repertoire.

 

He looked back at Potter, and found him standing up straight. He looked strange suddenly, different to how Draco had always seen him, and he ran his gaze over Potter to see what had changed. And then he saw it, and the confusion over what he saw had Draco deciding to stay and hear Potter out before he’d even realised he wanted to. Because Potter’s shoulders, usually held with ease and confidence, were strung tight with tension. The slow easy grin was ruined by teeth pulling at his lower lip. And his green eyes, usually sparkling with mischief – or anger whenever they were pointed at Draco – were hooded and reserved. Something had changed for Potter, something that had forced him to watch Draco all term in a contemplative manner rather than malicious, something that had forced him into seeking out Draco and approaching him while alone, and _apologising_ to him after insulting him. And instead of delighting in the newly changed Potter, Draco found himself wanting to know what that something was.

 

“Did you mean to say something else instead? Or was your comeback just not witty enough for you and you want me to give you time to think of something else?” Well, Draco wanted to know what was going on, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for Potter. He wasn’t stupid.

 

Potter sighed and tucked his hands into his coat pockets. He was dressed warmer than Draco was in just his Quidditch leathers, in a thick woollen jacket that came down to mid-thigh, and a matching hat and scarf with truly disgusting patterns on them. Whoever thought mustard yellow would go well with magenta zigzags clearly needed their eyes tested. But still, even with all that warmth wrapped around him, Potter’s shoulders hunched over, and he suddenly looked small and cold and almost scared to Draco, compared to the larger than life, louder than necessary Prince of Gryffindor image he usually projected throughout the castle. He looked almost… vulnerable.

 

“Well?” Draco said, when it didn’t look like an answer would be forthcoming anytime soon. Regardless of how Potter looked, Draco was still in danger of freezing to death if they stood out in the biting wind very much longer.

 

“I just,” Potter tried, then looked down at the frosty ground. “I wanted to talk to you.”

 

“Why?” Draco asked, thoroughly mystified. He was half wondering if Potter was the lure for some stupid Gryffindor prank, and half wondering if one of them had suddenly lost their minds. Maybe Draco had actually frozen to his broom and fallen to the ground, and this was some weird kind of Purgatory he had to endure before moving on.

 

“Can we walk back?” Potter said instead, and shuffled across the grass closer to him. Draco took a step back. “It’s bloody freezing out here.”

 

“And here was me thinking it was a balmy summer’s evening,” Draco muttered, but without much bite. He waited until Potter had reached him and then fell into step beside him, eyeing him warily from the corner of his eye. Potter may be acting different, but that was no reason for Draco to let his guard down.

 

They had almost reached the castle when Potter finally spoke, and Draco had been wondering if he was in fact dreaming the entire evening.

 

“Why do you hate me so much, Malfoy?” Potter asked, completely out of nowhere.

 

Draco was so surprised he let out a real laugh, instead of the sneer he usually kept just for Potter. “Why? Because you hate me. It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

 

But Potter just looked at him, and Draco thought his eyes seemed… almost sad. “I’ve never hated you, Malfoy,” he said quietly.

 

Draco scoffed. “Well excuse me if every interaction we’ve ever had told me otherwise, Potter.”

 

“Look, we might fight all the time, but it was never because I hated you. Things between us just… got out of hand, I guess.” Potter pulled out one of his hand and swept his garish hat from his head, the wild black strands sticking out even more than usual. “It’s just,” he stopped walking and scuffed his toe on the ground. Draco stopped next to him, still not sure where this was going. “Things are different now,” he carried on, his voice still low and quiet. Draco wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Potter this serious; he was always laughing loudly with his friends, shouting down hallways, pulling pranks in the dungeons that made cauldrons explode. “After last year, what happened to Cedric…”

 

Draco looked away sharply; he never wanted to think about that ever again. “What do you want, Potter?” He snapped, swallowing against the bile threatening to rise into his mouth at the mention of what had happened last year.

 

Potter looked at him then, straightening his shoulders. Draco couldn’t tell if it was a forced gesture or if it was just to help him summon some of that fabled Gryffindor courage. “I offered to shake your hand once, our first journey on the Hogwarts Express. I’m going to offer it again, now.” Draco watched, one eyebrow raised as Potter struggled to remove one of his mittens – the same gaudy colours as his hat and scarf – and then slowly hold his hand out between them. “Well? What do you say?”

 

Draco stared at the hand in front of him, his mind going back to that moment on the train. Potter had been far less serious then than he was now, his grin threatening to split his face. But Draco had seen the looks he had given his new friends sitting behind him, had seen the way Blaise and Pansy had shrunk into their seats upon the arrival of Potter and his two cronies, and he’d made his decision. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to change it now, but then he made the mistake of looking up into Potter’s face. Snow had started to fall from the heavy clouds above them, and small flakes of white dotted Potter’s ink black hair. His white teeth dug into his lower lip, red bleeding out against the paleness of his cold skin. His too green eyes were glittering again, not with malice or anger as they had been before, but with something that almost looked like hope. Draco realised he quite liked that look on Potter.

  
Potter cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Draco realised with a start that he had been staring for far too long. He fumbled quickly with his Quidditch gloves, and bit his lip as he finally reached between them to take Potter’s hand. The skin of it was warm and smooth against his own almost frozen one, and Draco felt the heat of it travel up his arm and warm him right through to his toes. They shook once and then let go quickly, both embarrassed and awkward. But as Potter gave him a quick grin and raced up the stairs into the warmth of the castle, he found himself wondering just what he had hated so much about winter.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

Draco stood in the darkened corridor, the note from Potter still clutched in his fist. His wand was held loosely in his other hand. He still didn’t know why he had decided to come here.

 

It was all so reminiscent of first year, Potter and his friends challenging him to a duel at midnight behind the statue of Velma the Virtuous. Of course they hadn’t turned up and Draco, along with Blaise and Pansy, had ended up running through corridors trying to keep away from Filch and not get caught out of bed. And now suddenly, Potter was sending him notes in Defence and asking him to meet in the seventh floor corridor at midnight. And it seemed as though Draco hadn’t learned his lesson because despite all his reservations, here he was, at midnight, waiting in the corridor for someone who probably wouldn’t come.

 

It was all so stupid and weird, Draco mused to himself as he leaned into a small alcove, trying to hide as much of himself as he could. It wouldn’t stop Filch from seeing him if he looked, but the tiny bit of shelter made Draco feel a little bit less like he was about to crawl out of his skin in anxiety. Why was he even here? He should be happily curled up in his bed down in the dungeons, dreaming of the look on Potter’s face in the morning when he showed up fresh faced and detention free. He shouldn’t be freezing his backside off in a corridor about as far away from the Slytherin common room as it was possible to be.

 

He hadn’t even told Pansy and Blaise about the note, so insistent had he been that he was going to ignore the summons. He wasn’t going to go, so his friends didn’t need to hear about it. But by the time half past eleven had come, Draco still wasn’t asleep, and the piece of parchment was still tucked neatly into his palm. Draco wasn’t known for his curiosity, but one of the few things guaranteed to peak his interest was Potter, and he couldn’t get the idea of the meeting out of his head. Obviously, Potter knew all about the effect he had on Draco, and had realised that the only way to get to him this year would be to act incredibly strange and ask to be friends, all just to get Draco up here at midnight for some kind of prank. It was a well thought out trap that Draco had _walked right into_ , and tomorrow Potter and his friends will be in the Great Hall laughing themselves sick over whatever was about to befall Draco here in this corridor.

 

He had just decided to give up and make his way carefully back to the dungeons – curiosity over Potter’s motives be damned – when he heard the distinct sound of a cloak brushing against the stone floor. Draco froze, gripping his wand tighter as his breath caught in his throat. Was it Filch? Or his cat maybe? No, that was stupid, cats didn't even wear cloaks. Draco stood deathly still, straining his ears to hear that noise again, his eyes aching from trying to make out shapes in the dark. And then, suddenly, he saw something. A door started to materialise on the blank stretch of wall in front of him, wooden planks with ornate iron carvings twisted into patterns and swirls across it. Draco was so busy staring at the new door that he had never seen before, that he didn’t even notice Potter arrive until he was standing right in front of him.

 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Potter said lightly, busy stuffing something that looked like it was made out of silver liquid into his back pocket.

 

“What?” Draco said dumbly.

 

“It’s a Muggle phrase, right?” Potter shrugged his shoulders. “Hermione says them all the time.”

 

“What?” Draco said again, and then inwardly rolled his eyes at himself. “I mean where, where did you come from?”

 

“Gryffindor Tower,” Potter replied, tilting his head as though he was wondering if Draco had lost his mind. Perhaps he had.

 

Draco pulled himself up straight, smirking slightly at the reminder that he was taller than Potter. “Well, I’m here. What do you want?”

 

“Like I said in my note, I have a proposal for you.” Potter took a step back, and inclined his head to the newly arrived door. “Come on, we won’t have to whisper in here.”

 

Mystified, Draco followed Potter as he strode to the door and pushed it open. Draco stared into the revealed room, his feet following Potter over the threshold before he’d realised he’d made the decision to do so. It was the strangest room he’d ever seen; one side was filled with bookshelves, all the books related to both Defence and Potions for some reason. There were cushions littered across the floor in bright colours, and boxes filled with weird objects. But the other side of the room was a Potions lab, complete with shelves of ingredients and two pewter cauldrons resting over unlit fires. Dumbfounded, he turned to look at Potter, who was standing closer to the middle of the room, hands stuffed in his pockets as he watched Draco take in their surroundings.

 

“What is this place?” Draco asked, gazing up at the high vaulted ceilings and the enchanted windows that showed a clear lake surrounded by forest trees.

 

“It’s a secret room,” Potter replied, looking around and seeming satisfied by what he saw. “I found it once, by accident. Hardly anybody else knows about it. But it’s magic,” he said, becoming animated as he talked about his discovery, “it gives you what you ask for, it changes all the time. Like, we could go back outside and wish for a bathroom, or a broom shed, or whatever. And the Room will turn itself into whatever we ask for.”

 

Draco was starting to feel a little bit sick. Was this Potter’s plan then? To lure him into a secret room that nobody knows about, hex him and leave him in a place nobody would think to look? He gripped his wand tighter in his hand, ready for any move Potter might be about to make.

 

“Okay, fine,” he drawled, hoping to conceal his nerves. “But what are we doing here in the middle of the night?”

 

“Ah,” Potter grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his hair and making it stand up even more. Draco watched him take a deep breath and square his shoulders, and he mentally ran through all of the worst hexes he knew. “Well, we’ve been trying this friends thing the past couple of weeks, right?”

 

Draco nodded warily. They had, ever since the night Potter had followed him to the Quidditch pitch and offered to shake his hand. There had been nods in the corridors between classes, potions ingredients passed between them in the dungeons, and Potter had even once opened their Defence classroom door for Draco with a quiet _after you_. But that had been the extent of their interactions, and Draco was honestly grateful for them. He had far too many other things on his mind to worry about, such as what his godfather was up to in his work for the Order. He had no time to wonder about what Potter and his friends might be planning next, and so over the last few weeks he had been gradually dropping his guard.

 

Potter scratched the back of his head. “Well, I was thinking this afternoon in Potions class, that you’re really good at it and,” he shrugged, bit his lip.“I’m really not. So I thought you might help me out?”

 

Draco realised his jaw was dropping open, so he clamped it shut and frowned. “You want me to tutor you in Potions.” It wasn’t a question; he was just speaking the words out loud in the hopes that they would make more sense.

 

“Not for nothing though,” Potter hurried to add. He swept a hand around the room, indicating both sides of the weirdly comforting looking classroom. “I thought we could trade. You help me out in Potions, and I help you with some of the things in Defence?”

 

“What makes you think I need any help in Defence?”

 

Potter flushed. “Er, I might have overheard Uncle Sirius talking about your most recent grade?”

 

Draco scowled. Bloody Black and his ability to talk loudly about Draco’s many failings whenever there were people around to hear. Great, now the whole of bloody Gryffindor Tower was probably laughing about him and his inability to cast a proper shield charm.

 

“So. What do you say?”

 

Draco looked at Potter. He was standing in the middle of the room, one hand still shoved in his pocket, the other gripping a handful of hair on the back of his head, and he seemed unable to maintain eye contact. He was _nervous_ , Draco realised, and it was that realisation that finally let him loosen his grip on his wand.

 

“Okay, deal.” Draco nodded, and watched as Potter let out a breath and let some of the tension out of his shoulders. “But not tonight. And not this late. I need my beauty sleep and I really don’t fancy getting caught out of bed after curfew.”

 

“Scared Filch might catch you?” Potter grinned.

 

Draco scowled back. “It’s alright for you, you’ve only got to run along a couple of corridors to get back to Gryffindor. I’ve got to get to the other side of the bloody castle without being seen. It’s not exactly easy.”

 

Well,” Potter took a step forward. “I might be able to help with that.”

 

Draco scoffed. “What are you going to do, _Accio_ me all the way up to the seventh floor?”

 

“No, but I do have a way for you to get here and back without being seen.”

 

Potter looked entirely too smug, and Draco didn’t like it. “How?”

 

“It’s a secret.” Potter grinned widely, and motioned for Draco to follow him back into the corridor. The door sealed shut behind them and melted away until all that was left in its place was a blank stretch of wall once more.

 

“It was my dad’s,” Potter was saying next to him, as he struggled to pull that silvery material out of his pocket. “So I can’t leave it with you, but I can take you under it and then go back to bed after.” He glanced up, assessing Draco’s height. “You’re about the same height as Ron, so we should be fine.” And with that, he stepped right up close to Draco and threw the fabric over the both of them.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw movement reflected in the window in the hallway, and he gasped at what he saw. The material covered his shoulders and the rest of his body, and all Draco could see was his own head, floating in the air in the middle of the corridor. Draco truly didn’t know whether to be amazed or irritated. So this was how Potter always managed to appear and disappear without ever getting into trouble.

 

“Pull it over your head,” Potter said to him, and he did so. “Ron has to crouch a bit as he walks, so you might have to too, to keep your feet hidden. We’ll have to stick close together while we’re under too…”

 

Draco’s heart was pounding in his chest the entire walk down to the Slytherin common room. Twice, Potter had pulled him behind statues on their way, whispering for him to be quiet as Mrs Norris strolled past them. Each time, she would stare intently in their direction, and Draco would hold his breath, certain that she could see them even through bloody Potter’s invisibility cloak.

 

His breathing didn’t ease until they were finally in the stretch of corridor that led to his own common room, his mind unable to calm down, too filled with thoughts of what would happen if they were to be caught and how he would never get used to the image of looking in a reflective surface and not seeing himself staring back and why the hell Potter always seemed to wear Muggle jeans and t shirts instead of proper wizarding clothes like Draco. He was forced to remember every time his fingers brushed against the soft denim in their cramped space, every time the picture of the Welsh Green dragon emblazoned on Potter’s chest caught the moonlight streaming through the windows. He didn’t understand it; as soon as he’d learned just how much money he had waiting for him in Gringotts, Draco had sent away for all the finest wizard robes, keen to fit in where he belonged. But even though Potter’s family had just as much money as Draco did and Potter had spent his entire life growing up in the wizarding world, all he ever seemed to wear were ripped jeans and faded t shirts. And for some reason Draco found the look almost _endearing._

 

Draco frowned at his own thoughts and then let out a sigh of relief as the hidden door to his dormitory came into focus. Potter stopped, looked around to make sure that nobody was about, and then flung the cloak off their shoulders. Draco stepped away quickly, and Potter gave him a wave of his hand.

 

“Door to door service, Malfoy.”

 

Draco rolled his eyes. “If you’re waiting for a thank you, Potter, you’ll be here a long time.”

 

Potter grinned. “So, tomorrow then? Same place, say, 9 o clock?”

  
Draco pursed his lips, and then nodded. Potter grinned at him, gave another quick wave, and then disappeared back under the cloak. Draco waited until the tell-tale sound of the material brushing against the stone floor disappeared around the corner before leaning back against the damp stone wall with a sigh. Being almost-friends with Potter didn’t seem like it was going to do his heart rate any favours.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

Draco’s hand clenched around his wand, instead of throwing it across the room in disgust like he wanted to. He scowled around the room, sending a dirty look at the cauldron bubbling merrily a few feet away. He was sure the steam was contributing to his failure to concentrate.

 

“Maybe you’re not thinking of a happy enough memory.”

 

Draco turned his scowl onto Harry, who stood just behind him, his hand held out to pat his shining silver stag. _Bloody show off_. It had been a confusing few months for Draco, meeting up with Harry like this in the secret room he had somehow come to think of as _theirs_. Twice a week, he would go up to the seventh floor and wait for Harry to join him, his heart in his throat as his thoughts inevitably turned to wondering if this was going to be the day Harry would do something to prove the whole thing had been a prank. And twice a week, he would press close to Harry under the invisibility cloak, his heart in his throat as they traversed the hallways hoping not to get caught. After the Easter holidays though, Draco had stopped wondering if the whole thing was an elaborate Gryffindor ruse; it had gone on for far too long by now for any fallout to be worth the effort. But still, every time he waited for Harry to show up, and every time he disappeared under the cloak with him, Draco’s heart still lodged itself firmly in his throat. Just for completely different reasons.

 

These days Draco waited in the corridor worrying that Harry might not show up, and every journey back down to the dungeons after made his stomach clench with nerves. His breath would catch every time his hands brushed against Harry, or Harry’s fingers slid over his wrist to alert him of something coming their way. It was all making him terribly confused. He used to want nothing more than to punch that frustratingly infectious grin off Harry’s face, but now he finds he doesn’t want to do that _at all_. In fact he finds his mind wanders off to places where he does other things instead. And somehow, in all the confusion, Potter had turned into _Harry_ in his head.

 

“Why don’t you remind me of all the wonderfully happy things I have to think about, Potter?” Draco sneered, inwardly patting himself on the back for saying the right name. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep the other one from slipping out.

 

Harry sighed, and pulled his hand through his hair. It was sticking up even more than usual; the steam from their conjoined attempt to brew the Sleeping Draught earlier had curled the ends and stuck them to his forehead. It made him look even more of a mess than usual, but Draco, to his continued horror, was beginning to think of this look with less disgust and more of something that almost felt like _fondness._ It was terrible, feeling this way about a _Gryffindor._

 

“Okay, let’s try this.” Harry walked closer until he stood behind Draco, and put his hands on his shoulders. “Close your eyes, and relax your body.” His breath on the back of Draco’s neck made him shiver, and he clenched his hands into fists by his sides. He almost whimpered in misery when Harry smoothed his fingers over his back with a light laugh. “I said relax, Malfoy.”

 

Draco tried to do as instructed; closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried to let the tension drain out of him.

 

“Better,” Harry murmured, and Draco felt his stomach dip and swirl. “Now, try to think of something, doesn’t matter what. But it needs to be something that,” he paused, as though trying to find the right words and Draco tried not to let the smirk show on his face. Harry never knew the right words to say. “Something that makes you smile before you’ve even realised you’re doing it. Something that makes your chest feel lighter than air, that sends tingles down to your fingers and toes at just the first thought of the memory. Then grab that feeling, and cast.”

 

Harry stepped away, and Draco kept his eyes closed, trying to think of a memory that made him feel the way Harry described. There weren’t many. But then, unbidden, the memory of last week came to him. It wasn’t a _happy_ moment, exactly; there was too much fear and something that felt horribly like hope for it to be happy. But thinking of it did make his chest feel light, and he was tingling all over, and he could feel his lips pulling up in a quiet smile without asking for his permission first. He took another deep breath, then opened his eyes and cast the spell.

 

“ _Expecto Patronum!”_

 

Harry laughed and let out a cheer as a burst of silver came out of the end of Draco’s wand. Draco watched, amazed, as the cloud coalesced into the shape of a pearly white peacock that flapped its wings around the room. It flew over the cauldron twice, before coming to rest on the floor beside Harry’s stag, using its beak to preen its beautifully decorated feathers.

 

“I did it! Harry look, I actually did it!”

 

“I knew you could!” Harry bent down to take a closer look at Draco’s peacock. Then he stopped, and looked back at Draco. “You called me Harry.”

 

 _Damn._ So he had. Draco tried to look in control of the situation and merely raised an eyebrow. “Well, you _did_ prove to be of some help after all. Consider it a reward for being slightly less irritating than usual.”

 

“Does that mean I can call you Draco now?” Harry’s voice was quietly amused, and something else Draco couldn’t quite put his finger on.

 

He shrugged, examining his cuticles in an effort to hide the effect his name falling from Harry’s tongue had on him. “If you like.”

 

“We should probably be getting back.” Harry walked over to the cauldron and Vanished the contents, and Draco put the book and ingredients back on their shelves. “Oh hey,” Harry said, as he picked up his cloak and made to throw it over them both. “What was the memory you chose?”

 

Draco swallowed. “The first time I flew on a broom,” he lied. One thing was for sure, he was never going to tell Harry that he had been thinking of last week, when Filch had almost caught them, and Harry had had to press back into Draco’s chest behind one of the suits of armour to avoid being run into, and the feelings that having Harry held clumsily in his arms - so close, smelling of treacle and apple and grass - had had on him.

 

“Huh.” Harry swung the cloak and reached out to open the door.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.” Harry checked that the coast was clear and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I just tried my own memory of that once, but it didn’t work for me.”

 

Draco didn’t bother to hide his smirk. “That’s probably because you can’t think of flying without remembering that I beat you to the snitch every time.”

 

“Git.” Harry punched his arm, but it was light and he was smiling, and Draco felt his stomach dip and swirl again.

 

The journey down to the dungeons felt quicker than usual, as Draco was still flying high on the feeling of having accomplished his Patronus. He said a quick goodbye to Harry in the corridor and slipped into the Slytherin common room, smiling widely. He tried to reign it in as soon as he saw Pansy looking at him speculatively, but it kept returning, unbidden, and he couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

  
He kept smiling to himself all throughout the evening into the morning, until whispers broke out amongst the students in the Great Hall during breakfast, and the owl addressed to Draco arrived. Because there had been a break in at the Ministry, and now Severus, his godfather, was dead, and nothing would ever be happy again.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

The door to his dormitory opened with a creak, but Draco didn’t look up. No doubt it was either Blaise or Pansy, come to find him and pressure him into joining them down in the common room. It didn’t matter how many times he told them he just wanted to be left alone, they still kept coming after him. He supposed it was an expression of their friendship that they cared so much, but at that moment it only felt stifling.

 

When the door closed again without anyone speaking, Draco glanced up. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and he decided it had just been one of the boys he shared his dormitory with, deciding they hadn’t wanted to come in after all. But then he saw the curtains around Nott’s bed twitch, and he instinctively put his hand out for his wand, his eyes straining to see what it was.

 

The air shimmered for a moment at the end of his bed, and then Harry appeared from under his cloak. His eyes were ringed with red, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. And then Draco remembered; Harry’s dad had been in the Ministry the night Severus had died. James Potter had been caught and sent briefly to Azkaban.

 

Draco turned away and looked down; he didn’t think he could handle Harry’s stumbling apologies. James Potter might not have been the person who had thrown the curse that killed his godfather, but he had been there, and for that alone Draco could never forgive Harry’s father. He wasn’t even sure if he could forgive Harry, either.

  
But Harry didn’t say anything. Instead, he laid his cloak on the bed by Draco’s feet, and moved to the side and pulled the curtains shut. Then he climbed on the bed behind Draco and put his arms around his shoulders. Draco froze for a moment, but the feeling of comfort was too great for him to ignore for long and he found himself leaning back into Harry’s embrace. It was different to the manly hugs he occasionally shared with Blaise; softer and longer lasting. So too was it a change from the hugs he received from Pansy; less maternal and nurturing. Harry wasn’t just trying to comfort Draco, he was also trying to comfort himself, and it was that fact that let Draco relax for the first time since he’d heard the news, enough to let him close his eyes and sleep.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

“Please sit down, Draco.” Riddle indicated the high back chair in front of his desk. “There are some things I need to tell you.”

 

Draco didn’t want to sit down, didn’t want to listen to anything the old man had to say. Nothing he said now would make any difference; Severus would still be dead. But he knew better than to dismiss the headmaster, understood that when his voice took on the cold, high tone it was nearing, that it meant he was serious, and would brook no argument. So he sat, taking his time arranging his robes to give himself time to slip a mask back over his features.

 

“What is it, sir?” He asked, although he truly wasn’t interested in the answer. All he wanted to do was go back to his room and brood in peace.

 

“Do you remember, when you were in hospital at the end of your first year?” Riddle asked instead, and Draco frowned. What did that matter now? “You asked me a question, then, when you were weakened after your fight with Quirrell.” Riddle leaned back in his chair as Nagini slithered up to him, settling herself around his shoulders. He stroked her head absently with one pale forefinger.

 

“I didn’t answer you then. I decided that you were too young, that you should be able to spend some time as a child before having to grow up too fast. Do you remember?”

 

Draco did, now that he thought about it. He had asked why this Dumbledore would want him dead when he was nothing more than a child. He would have been grateful for the answer four years ago, but now he felt he was too numb to care. But still, he knew what was expected of him, so he nodded.

 

Riddle sighed. “I knew you had the right to know the truth, but I kept putting it off. I think a part of me was hoping that you would never have to find out. But now, after what happened in the Ministry, I am afraid we have no choice.”

 

Despite himself, Draco found himself leaning forward in his seat. Was this really the moment when he found out the reasons behind everything? Why his parents had died, why he had a scar on his face, why Severus had even been in the ministry in the first place?

 

“Many years ago, before I was born, there were two very bright boys. Magic was showing its first signs of withdrawing; Pureblood families were the most affected. These two boys decided that they would use their brilliance to find a cure, to bring magic back to its fullest potential.

 

"It became something of a science experiment for them; they spent all of their summer holidays together working out where the depletion was at its most extreme, and trying to find a cause. In the end, they thought they found it. Pureblood families were the most affected because the magic was stretched along the family line, whereas families who welcomed Muggles and Muggleborns into the fold were granted a reprieve; their new blood, their fresh potential, made the magic stronger, more resilient.

 

“The problem came in deciding how to act upon this information. One thought that the best thing to do would be to unite all humans, to show the world the wonders of magic and have us all living together. The other boy wondered if Muggleborns were actually the cause of magical depletion; perhaps as it strove to give abilities to these new people, it stretched itself too far and had to remove some of its potency from families that had used magic for generations. He suggested that rather than embracing Muggles, the wizarding world should shun them.

 

“The two boys argued over the right thing to do, and as they grew up and left school and became brilliant wizards in their own right, so their argument grew with them. Eventually, it became a war, with armies amassed on both sides. The two boys, now young men, eventually fought against each other. One was defeated, and sent to the wizard prison Nurmengard for his crimes. The other, was offered a place within the Ministry in thanks.”

 

Draco sighed and stared down at his fingernails, trying to keep his frustration from reaching his face. “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this, Sir. It happened so long before I was born, what could it possibly have to do with me?”

 

Riddle smiled; it made him seem almost snake-like. “I am telling you this because it has everything to do with you, Draco. History is written by the winners, and all else is left to be forgotten. People forget that it took both of those men to realise why magic had started to die out, and they forget that there were two different ideas for dealing with the problem. All anyone remembers is that Grindelwald was defeated, and Dumbledore was the victor. All anyone remembers is Dumbledore’s idea for making magic strong again.”

 

“I still don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me, Sir,” Draco sighed again, wishing he could just go back to his room and be alone.

 

“I’m saying, that Dumbledore is using this to his advantage. Imagine, Draco, for a moment, that you are an adult wizard, with a family, a job, and your magic is unstable, not as strong as it used to be, as it should be. And someone comes along and tells you that they know how to fix that problem for you. You look around and you can’t see that anybody else has another idea that could help you, so what would you do?”

 

Draco looked around the room disinterestedly. “I would probably follow that person, if it seemed as though there were truly no other options.”

 

Riddle smiled slightly. “Exactly. This is what Dumbledore is using in his favour; the fact that he is the only one who has a plausible solution is what is helping him gain power. Now Draco, imagine that you are Dumbledore. You have this power that nobody else has, and you are right on the brink of gaining everything you have ever wanted. But then, somebody else comes along, and it seems as though they too could have this power that you have worked so hard for. What would you do then?”

 

Draco thought about it. “If they don’t have that power yet, then I would try to ensure that they never get it, so that I could remain in charge,” he said slowly, realisation dawning on him. “Sir, is that why he-“ He couldn’t finish the sentence, wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know the answer.

 

Riddle looked down at his hands, idly stroking one thumb across his knuckles. “The break in at the Ministry occurred in the Department of Mysteries. Many things are kept down there in many rooms, things that many witches and wizards, clever and learned as they may be, have been unable to understand. In one such room, the Ministry houses a record of each and every prophecy that has ever been made.” He looked up at Draco. “Dumbledore was interested in getting hold of one prophecy in particular. One that was made more than seventeen years ago.”

 

“What was the prophecy about?” Draco asked when Riddle fell silent, even though he was almost positive he didn’t want to know the answer. He couldn’t not know now, either.

 

“The prophecy made was this: _The only son born that connects the oldest pureblood families together will have the power to return Magic to its former glory, for he will unite the Houses as never before._ ” Riddle leaned back in his seat, and settled his hands in his lap.

 

It hurt, and Draco had known it would. It was one thing to be told that his parents had died during a war, that they were taken away from him before he even had a chance to make any memories of them. But it was something else entirely to find out that they had died because of a prophecy made about him.

 

“So that’s why he killed my parents, and tried to kill me? All because of some stupid prophecy?”

 

Riddle nodded calmly. “Someone close to Dumbledore overheard the prophecy being made, and rushed to tell him what he had heard.”

 

Draco frowned. “But why me, why my family? I wasn’t the only pureblood child born that year.”

 

“No, you weren’t. But you were the only child born to more than one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Both the Malfoys and the Blacks can trace their lineage back to the time of the founding of this school.”

 

Draco thought about it. “But if someone overheard the prophecy and told Dumbledore, why would he want to break into the Ministry to retrieve it? What would be the point?”

 

“Because the listener only overheard the first part of the prophecy,” Riddle replied. “Dumbledore was told only that you will have power, and what he wants to know now, is what kind.”

 

Draco thought he’d rather like to know too. “So, what happens now?”

  
“Now,” Riddle said, flicking his wand at the top of his desk. The dark wood shimmered and slowly turned the colour of parchment, small black lines appearing across it. “Now you’re going to learn everything you can so that when the time comes, you will be able to unite the Houses under the banner of the one thing Dumbledore himself wishes to hold.” He looked up at Draco. “The Deathly Hallows.”

 

~~*~~

Year Six

~~*~~

Something had changed between Draco and Harry, and Draco didn't like their new relationship at all. He also didn't like not knowing the cause for this sudden shift in Harry's behaviour towards him. It wasn't like he had been expecting anything in particular, but Draco had thought, after Harry had come to comfort him at the end of the previous year, and after he'd grabbed his wrist as he was stepping off the train at King's Cross to wish Draco a good holiday, that their strange friendship would continue as it had done in fifth year.

Which was why he'd found it a little bit strange as he stood on the platform with Pansy and Blaise, and Harry had walked right past him without even so much as a glance in his direction.

“I thought you two were friends now?” Pansy had whispered, a sneer lifting her lips to show just what she thought of that.

Blaise patted Draco on the shoulder. “He probably just didn't see you. Come on, we'd better go get a compartment before all the good ones are taken.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow but wisely decided not to comment. Neither Blaise nor Pansy had been all that thrilled when Draco had told them he had formed a friendship with the Gryffindor Prince. Blaise had said that he guessed he didn't mind, as long as it didn't interfere with their Quidditch matches, but Pansy had been more suspicious, refusing to let go of the idea that it was just another Gryffindor Trio prank.

Draco followed his friends onto the train and sat near the window, watching the rest of the students scramble to get on the train as parents waved from the platform. When the whistle blew, he turned to face Blaise and Pansy, but in reality he was watching through the door for a glimpse of messy black hair.

It was a week later, and Draco decided to go up to the Room of Requirement as he used to do all through fifth year. He hated feeling like this, as though Harry had rejected him without giving him a reason. All week long, Harry had ignored him, sitting close to Granger and Weasley in class, disappearing from the Great Hall as soon as his last spoonful of food was in his mouth, practically running away down the corridors whenever Draco showed up.

It was disheartening, not to mention humiliating, and it was even more so once Draco realised that he wouldn't be able to just let it go. He walked past the blank stretch of wall three times as usual, but when he stopped to look, there was no door. He couldn't stop thinking about Harry enough to concentrate on what he wanted the Room to be. He sighed and slid down onto the stone plinth in the alcove opposite and waited.

Harry never came.

The following Saturday, Draco got up early and went out to the Quidditch pitch. He knew that the Gryffindor team had practise before breakfast, and Harry had told him that he liked to go down to the pitch even before his team mates. He said there was nothing like flying alone to help you think. Sure enough, as Draco wandered down over the grass, he could see a tiny figure lazily circling the hoops. He stood by the changing rooms, hoping that Harry would land before the rest of the Gryffindors came down from the castle.

He watched Harry give a half hearted attempt at a Wronski Feint, before tumbling onto his feet in the middle of the pitch. He really was a very graceful flier, Draco thought. He stood up straight as Harry approached, and swallowed against a lump in his throat when he saw Harry's face turn down in a frown as he spotted him.

“What are you doing here?” Harry shoved past Draco and pushed open the door to the broom shed.

Draco followed him. “You've been avoiding me. I wanted to know why.”

“I haven't been avoiding anything.” Harry's voice was cold and flat, and Draco didn't think he'd ever heard it sound that way before.

“So what was last year all about, then?” Draco asked coolly. He wanted it over with, so he could go back to his friends and forget whatever this thing with Harry had been. But he also wanted to know what had gone wrong. “Was it all just a prank? Get me to be friends with you so you can, what? Have a good laugh about me with your friends?”

It was what Draco had wondered, after all, back when Harry had first approached him, in the exact same place, almost a year ago. It's what Pansy had told him over and over once he'd told them that he and Harry were friends.

“Yes, Draco, it was a prank!” Harry pulled at his hair and turned around to face him. “It was a stupid idea but now it's over, okay?”

“Fine.” Draco backed away. “See you around, Potter.” He turned and walked back towards the castle, determined not to let it seem like he was anything but in control.

“Bit early in the year for spying on practises, isn't it?”

Draco looked up and groaned aloud at the sight of the redhead standing before him. “What do you want, Weasley? Come to gloat about the latest prank you and Harry pulled on me?” he snorted derisively. “Because I hate to burst your bubble, but I'm really not all that upset.” He glared at Weasley. “Just disappointed that that was the best you could come up with.”

Weasley shook his head, shifting his broom on his shoulder. “Only prank I know about is the one where Harry told us all to leave you alone last year. I did think it lacked imagination, though. There wasn't much of a punchline, if you see what I mean.”

Draco rolled his eyes and stalked past him. It was only once he reached the castle that he realised that meant Harry hadn't been telling the truth.

Something was going on, but it was clear to Draco that he wouldn't learn about it from Harry. He'd just have to wait and see what happened.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

The flight back over the grounds of Hogwarts was the most frightening journey Draco had ever experienced. Riddle was weak; the protection spell in the old library had zapped his strength, and Draco was terrified that the professor would fall sideways off his broom at any moment. He blamed his shaking hands and the heartbeat pounding in his throat for the fact that his feet clipped the edge of the Tower as they touched down, but really it was the fact that he couldn’t take his eyes off the Mark, burning high in the sky right above them.

 

He kept staring upwards even as he pulled himself to his feet, the broom left forgotten on the stone floor. The Light Mark, made out of thick white smoke, hovered in the air, blocking out the stars above. Draco swallowed hard as he followed the lines with his gaze; the circle, line and triangle somehow looked so much more sinister than it did at the Quidditch World Cup two years ago, now that Riddle had told him what it meant. Now that he knew what he had to do. He found himself staring at the circle and the triangle, as though just looking at them would somehow reveal to him their whereabouts.

 

Riddle stumbled against the wall, and Draco reached out to help him stand. “No,” Riddle whispered, “I need you to go and get Professor Black.”

 

Draco stared; how could Black help them now? Surely the best thing to do would be to find another member of the Society of the Serpent, anyone _but_ Black? “I’ll find someone, Professor, but we need to get you inside-“

 

“There’s no time.” Draco felt a hand on his back, and then he was pushed roughly behind the stone statue behind the door. “Someone is coming, do not move.”

 

A second later, and Draco felt the feeling of an egg being cracked over his head, and knew that Riddle had placed a Disillusionment Charm to hide him. He stared down at his body, noting distantly that the Charm was so powerful he had more or less disappeared into the wall behind him. A loud _crack_ rent the air, and his head snapped up, looking straight at Riddle, now bathed in light from the suddenly opened door.

 

“Where is he?” A voice asked, and Draco almost didn’t recognise it, as quiet and tremulous as it was. He’d never heard that tone issued from that voice before, and his mind was wiped blank from the shock of it. That voice wasn’t meant to be quiet, it was meant to be loud and confident, always one beat away from a laugh.

 

“You should be in bed, Mr Potter. It’s against the rules to be out this late.” Riddle’s voice was high and calm, as though he had nowhere better to be than discussing rule breaking with one of his students, but Draco could see how he was leaning against the wall for support, could see how his long pale fingers were trembling inside his robes.

 

“Yeah, well,” Harry said, and his voice was a little stronger. “I’ve never really been much for following the rules.” His feet brushed against the stone floor, and Draco realised he was still wearing his slippers. He must have rushed straight there from Gryffindor Tower, but Draco had no idea why he was there.

 

“Indeed, Mr Potter. So, would you like to explain to me why you suddenly decided on a midnight stroll up to the Astronomy Tower? A bit of impromptu studying of the night sky, perhaps?”

 

Draco’s eyes flicked up once more to the Mark burning across the darkened sky, and wondered if Riddle thought Harry had cast it. Evidently Harry thought the same thing.

 

“I didn’t do that,” he said. “I only just got here. Now where is he?”

 

“So you did,” Riddle replied, with the air of someone trying to solve a puzzle, and ignoring Harry’s question again. “It’s really quite ingenious how you manage to find your way around the castle without being seen. I remember your father used to do the same thing. Quite a handy skill.” Draco could swear that Riddle’s eyes had flicked to him for a moment, as though trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t for the life of him work out what. “Care to tell me how you do it?”

 

“No,” Harry said shortly. “I’m not here to talk to you.”

 

Draco couldn’t see Harry from his position, tucked behind the statue. He leaned forward as far as he dared, and still only caught a glimpse of his fluffy red slippers, the tips of his unruly black hair sticking out past the edge of the door. He wished that he could see Harry’s face in that moment, so that he could know what he was doing up here. Harry was always like an open book, so easy to read. Or at least he had been, until the start of this year when Harry had started doing his best to avoid Draco.

 

“So why are you here?” Riddle looked and sounded unconcerned, despite the fact that he was having to lean ever more heavily against the wall behind him.

 

Harry shuffled in place. “I don’t know, alright?” He burst out suddenly, and his words echoed off the stone wall. “I was going to ignore it, I’ve spent _all year_ ignoring it! But then I saw _him_ , and I just couldn’t let-“ He cut himself off, sounding choked.

 

“That must have been a terrible burden to carry, all year long,” Riddle murmured. “Knowing what was going to happen. I’m surprised they thought a young man such as yourself could handle such knowledge.”

 

“They didn’t tell me,” Harry blurted out. “I overheard them in our kitchen over the summer, my dad and Sirius and…” He trailed off with a miserable sounding laugh. “And you don’t even know what I’m talking about, and he’s going to be here any minute!” His voice rose, panic lacing his words, and Draco wished more than ever that he was visible, just so that he could tell Harry that everything would be okay. “Please, Professor, just tell me where he is!” Harry almost moaned the words.

 

“He’s safe,” Riddle said, and Draco wondered who they were talking about. “You can be safe too, Mr Potter.”

 

“I’m fine,” Harry replied distractedly, his feet still shuffling in place. “Nobody’s going to hurt me.”

 

“But nobody would help you keep him safe, either.” Riddle tried to stand up straighter, and his foot slipped. He held on tighter to the wall behind him. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To keep him safe? Come with us, Mr Potter. We can hide you both, keep you safe-“

 

“I told you I’m fine! Nobody’s going to hurt me!” Harry yelled out.

 

Riddle only moved his head to the side. “It looks to me as though you’re already hurting, Mr Potter. They’re hurting you by denying people the right to choose whom they love. As a half blood, you would only be allowed to love other half bloods and Muggleborns. What a shame it would be for a man such as yourself to fall in love with someone else.”

 

Harry flinched so violently the door rattled, buffeting Draco in his hiding place. “It was a mistake, anyway,” he mumbled, and Draco’s heart sank. He hadn’t realised he’d been hoping until it was taken away in that moment. “It’s for the Greater Good.”

 

“Is that what they told you?” Riddle stood up taller, his face half in shadow. “Harry, the ‘greater good’ is people being happy. You can _be_ happy.” The door shook again, and Draco wanted, more than anything, to be able to see Harry right at that moment.

 

Harry let out a noise disturbingly close to a whimper. “It’s too late,” he whispered.

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

“Because now I’m here.”

 

That familiar, loud and sarcastic voice filled the air, and Draco wanted to vomit. What was Black doing up here? Was this who Harry had been afraid would arrive? But that didn’t make any sense; Harry wouldn’t be afraid of his own godfather, would he?

 

“Professor Black,” Riddle nodded, his thin lips pulling into an almost smile. “Is it that time already?”

 

“It is.” Black stepped past Harry, and Draco could see his handsome profile, and his wand as he pointed it straight at Riddle’s heart. His hand was not shaking.

 

“Sirius, wait, I-“

 

“No, Harry, this must be done.”

 

“But maybe there’s an-“

 

Harry was interrupted by a blinding flash of green light, and Draco screwed his eyes up against the glare. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what it meant, but he couldn’t stop himself from running forward. He slammed into the cold hard stone and leant over, hoping desperately not to see anything, _Riddle can fly, he can’t be dead_. Except he could see, even from this high up, a small, crumpled figure down on the grass so very far below.

 

“Draco?”

 

Draco leant against the wall and turned around. Harry was backlit by the light emanating from the staircase, his hair sticking out even more wildly than usual, as though he had spent hours running his fingers through it.

 

“Harry, we don’t have time for this, we have to leave.” Black threw a dirty look at Draco and grabbed Harry’s arm and shook it. “ _Now._ ”

 

“Don’t go.”

 

Draco froze along with both Harry and Black. He hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but now that he had, he was frozen with the fear that Harry wouldn’t listen to him.

 

“We have to leave!” Black said again, pulling on Harry’s arm. But Harry stood his ground. He stared hard at Draco, and Draco could see something like resolve hardening in those leaf green depths. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Harry had decided.

 

“No.” Harry’s slipper clad feet slid along the stone a few inches before he dug his heels in and wrenched his arm out of his godfather’s grip. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Sirius. I don’t want to be a part of any of it.”

 

Black let out a snarl and raked his hand through his long hair. “You don’t have that luxury, Harry. You have to choose a side. Now come _on._ ”

 

Harry gave Draco a searching look and then turned to Professor Black. “Then I’ve already chosen my side.” He backed away from his godfather, the wind pulling at his pyjamas as he left the sanctuary of the doorway, every step bringing him closer to Draco.

 

Black stared at him for a long moment, swallowing and pulling his lips into a hard line as he watched Draco’s hand unfreeze itself from the parapet to wrap around Harry’s. He looked up again, but not at Harry, at Draco, and Harry suddenly stepped right in front of him, guarding Draco from his godfather.

 

“Tell Dad I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, and Black’s gaze shot back to him. He nodded once, and then looked at Draco one last time.

  
“Take care, Mr Malfoy,” he said enigmatically, and then with a swish of his cloak he was gone from sight.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

The afternoon was hot, uncomfortably muggy. The ceremony was finally over, and Draco was glad to be able to step away from the lake and the black marble tomb that now stood, tall and foreboding, in a clearing near the forest. People were finally beginning to move between the rows of black chairs now that it was over, finding family members to console and friends from other Houses. Aunt Bellatrix and Uncle Rodolphus sat near the front with the rest of the adult mourners, but Draco did not go to them; the less he saw of them the better.

 

Next to him, Pansy sat with her hands clenched tight in her lap. Draco noticed that Blaise had his arm around her shoulder, his hand stroking her dark hair. He looked away, giving them privacy, and his eyes landed on the Golden Gryffindor Trio, huddled in a corner on the shore of the lake. Granger was gesticulating wildly, her bushy hair flying around her face. Weasley had his hand on the small of her back, and seemed to be nodding along with her. Harry stood before them, his back to the water and his hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking down at the ground. He barely seemed to be listening to his friends.

 

Draco sighed and stood up, carefully avoiding disturbing Pansy and Blaise as he wended his way through the chairs and out into the open grass. Harry had been different the past two days, since the moment up on the tower. He had been distant and withdrawn for most of the school year, not talking to Draco, and hardly even spending time with his own friends. But his mood of the past few days had been worse. He hardly spoke to anyone, always looking down and away as though trying to avoid eye contact. Draco knew why. If Harry looked up, his guilt at being up there on that tower would be written all over his face. Draco didn’t understand it, but he _did_ understand Harry. To him, it wouldn’t matter that he hadn’t done anything more than talk with Riddle, wouldn’t matter that he had chosen the right side in the end; all that would matter to Harry was that he had been there in the first place.

 

As soon as Black had disappeared down the staircase, Draco had grabbed Harry’s cloak that he always knew he carried on him. He’d flung it over them both and dragged Harry back to the portrait opening to Gryffindor tower, ordering him to go up to his dorm and stay there until everyone else started to move. He was terrified, but he told himself he could keep it together long enough for Harry’s sake. The castle was already starting to wake up; he could hear shouts coming from the grounds. He didn’t want to leave Harry like this, but he had no choice if he was going to keep his involvement quiet. He wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret for long, Harry’s conscience wouldn’t allow it, but if he could keep most of the school from finding out until they were back on the train at least, then it was the most he could hope for.

 

He stopped walking and looked up; he found himself at the base of the Astronomy Tower. It was the one place he hadn’t been able to go since that night, and yet now his feet had brought him here while he was busy with other thoughts. Draco stared up, and even though the top was far too high, he thought he could still see the stone he clung to as everything changed around him.

 

“I never really appreciated how high it was before.”

 

Draco didn’t turn around, but as he flicked his gaze to his left he saw both Granger and Weasley standing a little further away. “You told them, then.”

 

“I had to,” Harry murmured. “They’re my best friends.”

 

“You didn’t find that important last year.” Draco was surprised to find out how bitter he was about that.

 

“That was different, it was personal.” Harry took a step forward, trying to catch Draco’s eye. Draco let him. “But this, this is _war._ Hermione and Ron, they’re a part of this too.”

 

“And after telling them, are you still choosing my side?” Draco wanted to ask, _are you still choosing me,_ but he was too terrified of the answer.

 

Harry lifted his chin, his eyes determined. “I am.”

 

“You’ll be coming with us then.”

 

Harry and Draco both turned to see Pansy standing there, Blaise just behind her. She rolled her eyes. “Great, now I’m going to have to put up with a bloody Gryffindor as well as _him._ ” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. Blaise grabbed it and pinched it until she yelped.

 

Harry frowned. “Coming with you? Where are you going?”

 

“Professor Riddle left Draco with a job to do. And as Draco can barely tie his laces without me there to help, that makes it my job too.” Blaise pinched her thumb again and she snatched her hand back. “Blaise might be helpful at some point too, of course.”

 

Draco looked at Harry. “Will the other two thirds of the Golden Trio be alright with that?”

 

“If you mean, will they try to talk me out of it, then yeah, probably. But they’re my friends, they’ll understand.”

 

Draco didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “What about your family?” He asked quietly.

 

Harry looked down, studying the ground. “They’ll understand too.” Then he winced. “Well, Dad might not, but Mum will. She’ll talk him round. Besides,” he looked up again, his chin lifted and his jaw clenched in the way that told Draco he had made up his mind for good. “It won’t matter what they think, will it? I’ll be with you.”

 

Draco stared at him for a long moment, and then turned to Pansy and Blaise. As one, they started walking into the school to pack for the journey home. He had a mission, he had his friends, and he somehow had Harry. Draco looked back at the tower one last time before the entrance hall swallowed it from view.

  
Maybe now he had a chance of surviving.

 

~~*~~

Year Seven

~~*~~

“I’ve made up a list of places we should check,” Pansy said, leaning down to rifle through her bag for her notepad. She placed it on the table and started flipping through the pages, each one covered with splashes of ink, the writing small and squashed into every available space. Harry snorted, and Pansy looked up. “Problem, Potter?”

 

“No,” Harry said, still grinning. “You just reminded me of Hermione.”

 

Pansy raised a hand to her sleek black bob with a look of insulted horror. Draco choked on his mouthful of tea and Blaise clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the snigger.

 

“Not like that,” Harry said, his grin slipping as Pansy continued to flay him alive with her glare. “I just meant, she likes to make lists and notes too. That’s all.”

 

Pansy sniffed, and let her hand fall back to the table. “Well, I suppose not _all_ Gryffindors are idiots. There’ve got to be a few of you who are useful.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“I wasn’t talking about you, Potter.”

 

Harry winked and wrapped his fingers around his own mug of tea. “If you say so.”

 

“I do say so!”

 

“I think I’ll take it as a compliment anyway.”

 

“God, you’re infuriating.”

 

“But useful.”

 

“About as useful as a Blast Ended Skrewt!”

 

“Hagrid says they’re very useful.”

 

“Hagrid is a stupid oaf!”

 

“Hey! Watch what you-”

 

“If we could please get back to the list?” Blaise interrupted loudly, shooting a glare at Draco for not being the one to put a stop to the argument instead. Draco shrugged, unapologetic. Watching Pansy lose her temper with Gryffindors was always a fun time. And Harry’s sly smile did strangely pleasant things to Draco’s stomach.

 

“Pansy, just show us your list. The sooner we get moving and find this bloody thing, the sooner we can get out of this disgusting tent.” Blaise sneered around at their surroundings, and Draco couldn't fault him. The tent did have a pervading smell of cat urine, no matter how many cleaning charms Pansy threw at it.

 

They’d been living in it for a month now, from the moment Pansy’s mother had realised the Ministry had been infiltrated by Dumbledore’s followers. Pansy had contacted both Blaise and Draco via the galleons with the Protean charms that Draco had given them back in sixth year, not knowing that Draco had already given Harry one as well. They’d all Apparated to the same spot that Pansy had chosen; a small meadow a few miles from her family home. After a brief argument over Harry’s appearance, Draco had reminded her of what they had agreed at the end of term, and then conversation had turned to what they were going to do next.

 

“We need somewhere as a base of operations,” Blaise had said calmly. “Somewhere where we can be safe while we try to work this out.”

 

“There isn’t anywhere like that,” Pansy had replied, frustration evident in her tone. “Mother said that they’ve started tracking Floo travel, and they’re planning raids on any wizard home across the country. We have to stay on the move or we’ll be caught. And with our luck, probably sooner rather than later.”

 

“I have an idea,” Harry had said, and Disapparated before anyone could ask him what he meant. He was back within an hour, his face split in a wide grin and holding a pink beaded bag.

 

“That really doesn’t go with your outfit,” Blaise had commented dryly, and got the two finger salute in response.

 

“It’s Hermione’s,” Harry said, opening the bag and shoving his arm inside. It disappeared up to his elbow, despite the fact that the thing was tiny. “She started working on it as soon as I told her I was going with you. It’s got an undetectable extension charm on it, and she’s packed it with things she thought we might need.”

 

“How very Gryffindor of her,” Pansy mumbled, but took a step closer to Harry as he continued to rummage around inside the small bag.

 

“You said we’ll need to stay on the move, right?” Harry asked, and then made a soft sound of success and began to remove his hand. “Well, here it is!”

 

He yanked out a huge mass of sticks and canvas, letting it drop to the floor as it continued to fall out of the impossibly small bag. They all stared at it, until Blaise coughed.

 

“Is that what I think it is?”

 

Harry grinned. “If you think it’s a tent, then yep.”

 

“You want to go camping,” Draco said flatly, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

 

Harry sighed. “Look, I know it’s not exactly a five cauldron hotel, but Blaise said we needed a base of operations and Pansy thinks we need to keep on the move.” He gestured to the badly folded tent on the grass between them. “This gives us both. We can pack it and take it with us when we need to, and we can find somewhere out of the way to set it up.”

 

Draco eyed the thing with distaste, but Pansy sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “He’s right, it’s the best option.” She kicked the canvas with the tip of her pointy shoe. “It’s a disgusting option, but it’s the best we have.”

 

And so they had repacked the tent into the beaded bag, which Pansy had commandeered and swiftly transfigured into green because, “It goes better with my complexion, unless one of you three would like to go around everywhere holding a girly handbag.” They’d then Apparated together to the middle of a small wood in South Wales, purely out of the reasoning that it was as far away from both the Ministry and Hogwarts as they could get without leaving Britain. And this is where they had been living for the past four weeks, inside a tent in a wood, the three boys taking turns to use the Polyjuice potion Granger had stashed in her bag so that they could go out and get supplies, while Pansy read through her huge collection of books and made copious notes.

 

“Okay, so,” Pansy said, eyeing Harry with a malevolent glare before turning back to her notes. “According to Professor Riddle...” She trailed off, swallowing hard. It was still difficult for them all to think about their late headmaster. Pansy shook herself and began again. “According to what Professor Riddle told Draco last year, there are three Deathly Hallows, and Dumbledore wants to reunite them. If we can find them first, then we can keep Dumbledore from getting any stronger and Draco might actually have a chance at defeating him.”

 

“I still don’t get why it has to be Draco,” Harry interrupted.

 

Draco had asked Riddle this very question last year, and hadn’t been given much of an answer. But it had basically boiled down to the fact that Dumbledore was fixated upon Draco, putting him in his line of sight. Draco had no choice; he wouldn’t be able to run from Dumbledore forever, so he may as well arm himself as much as possible while he waits for the inevitable.

 

Pansy, however, sighed pointedly. “Think about it, Potter. What if your entire family had been murdered, and you’d been sent off to live with a bunch of relatives who hated you and treated you like shit throughout your entire childhood. How would you feel?”

 

Harry looked over at Draco, and somehow Draco just knew that they were both thinking about the same thing; that moment in the hospital wing when Harry had confessed his greatest fear. “I’d want the bastard dead,” he said finally, his green eyes hard and fixed on Draco. “And I’d want to be the one to do it.”

 

“Hmm, revenge. Very Slytherin of you,” Pansy murmured, her eyes sparkling. “There might be hope for you yet, Potter.”

 

“So, the list?” Blaise asked pointedly, and Pansy jumped.

 

“Right. So, Riddle was certain that Dumbledore already has the Elder Wand, and he also thought he had managed to find the Resurrection Stone. But the one thing Dumbledore doesn’t have, is Death’s Cloak.” She looked around at the others gathered around the table. “So, we have to find it before Dumbledore gets his hands on it and becomes Master of bloody Death.”

 

Pansy flipped to the last page in her notebook, where there were a few names written down in her neat handwriting. “I’ve been searching through the stories of the Peverell brothers, trying to find places that they may have stashed their Hallows for safekeeping, and I’ve managed to come up with a few places.”

 

Draco pulled the notepad closer to himself and pointed at the first entry. “You can scratch that one off the list,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

 

Pansy looked down at where he was pointing and frowned. “Are you sure?”

 

Draco nodded. “Dumbledore already searched there and found nothing; Riddle told me.”

 

“Somehow I feel as though there’s more to that story,” Blaise said, and Draco tried not to let his wince show on his face.

 

“Apparently Dumbledore sent someone to look there the same night the Prophecy was made,” Draco said, silently hoping that they could move on.

 

He was out of luck, though. “You mean the night Black practically signed your parents’ death warrant?” Blaise snorted, his dark brows drawing into a frown.

 

“What?” Harry looked up, his gaze flicking from Draco to Blaise and back again. Draco sighed, wishing he had never told Pansy and Blaise that Black had been the one to overhear the Prophecy. Draco might hate the man, but he was still Harry’s godfather.

 

Maybe Pansy saw the look on Draco’s face and decided to take pity on him for once, or maybe she was just bored with the conversation. But either way, Draco was grateful when she waved the notepad around and said, “Look, can we get back to the problem at hand, here?”

 

Draco nodded in relief as Blaise grabbed the notepad. “Why the bloody hell is the Library of Alexandria on this list?”

 

Pansy scowled and tried to snatch the list out of Blaise’s hand. “Forget why,” Draco said. “Didn’t the Library burn down?”

 

Pansy stopped trying to poke Blaise’s eyes out with her fingernails and looked at Draco in surprise. Then she smirked, and reached over to pat Draco’s hand. “You’re so cute when you don’t know things,” she said. “The _Muggle_ Library burned down, yes. But we’re wizards; did you really think nobody would have thought of warding the place against fire?”

 

“So, back to _why_ Alexandria is on the list?” Blaise raised an eyebrow.

 

Pansy turned her smirk on him. “Because I read that Ignotus Peverell was a researcher in his time. According to a few of the texts that talk about him - and there aren’t many, he led a really quiet life - he was very interested in the art of Vanishing and the magical components of the spells. Now, while I haven’t found anywhere that says he ever went to Alexandria in his time,” she flipped back a few of the pages of her notes, “The Library is known to hold some of the most important scrolls on Vanishing and Conjuring.” She looked up at the boys, who were all looking slightly stunned at the level of research she had gone to. “I’d say that it stands to reason that Ignotus would have visited the Library at some point, and what better place to hide Death’s Cloak than a place so very few wizards have access to?”

 

Everyone looked at her in silence for a long moment, and then Blaise coughed. “Pans, you do realise that none of us are among those few people with access, right?”

 

“Oh sure, let’s worry about how to get into the place,” Harry said, a little hysterically. “I mean, it’s not like getting there in the first place is going to be a problem, is it?”

 

“Well then,” Pansy replied, opening her notebook to a fresh clean page. “I’d say it was time we started planning it all out.”

 

Harry shook his head and pressed his hands to his face, as though he could pretend that none of this was happening if he just wasn’t looking at it. Draco felt like doing the same.

 

“Well, I can’t plan anything on an empty stomach,” Blaise said finally, and got up from the table to look for their supply of Polyjuice. “It’s my turn to find dinner.”

 

“I’ll come with you,” Pansy said, getting up and walking over to him. “I’ve been stuck inside this stinky tent for far too long. You two,” she pointed at Draco and Harry. “Start thinking of ways we can get into the Ministry unseen and grab a portkey.” She shrugged lightly. “You might also want to work out a way we can search the department of Mysteries while we’re in there; that’s on my list too.”

 

“Would you like me to give birth to a dragon while we’re at it?” Draco asked. Harry snorted into his hands.

 

Pansy ignored him and just grabbed hold of Blaise as she downed the Polyjuice and winced at the taste. Slowly her small body started bubbling as it changed into a replica of a Muggle shopkeeper they’d stolen some hairs from a couple of weeks ago. She gasped once the transformation was over, and she looked down at her rounded belly and stubby fingers with a scowl. “We should really get some hairs off of someone pretty. I can’t stand being fat,” she complained, and let go of Blaise’s arm, who was now looking like an old age pensioner. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

 

Draco watched them leave and waited until he’d heard the faint _pop_ of their Disapparition before he groaned loudly and thunked his head on the table in frustration. “Ever been inside the Ministry, Harry?” He asked, his voice muffled by his arms. “I have, once, and that place is locked up tighter than McGonagall’s knickers. Not to mention three of us are on their Most Wanted list right now.”

 

“It was Sirius, wasn’t it,” Harry said quietly, and Draco froze. “He overheard the prophecy and he told Dumbledore, which led to your parents-” He cut himself off with a noise that sounded like a dry sob.

 

Draco quickly raised his head. Harry was busy staring down at his hands, where he was picking apart the rough table with his fingernail. Draco wanted to talk to him about it, but at the same time he wished the subject had never been brought up in the first place. He opened his mouth to say something, something that would make Harry feel better, because he couldn’t stand that look on his face, but what came out instead was, “We should get to work. If Pansy comes back and finds out we’ve done nothing but sit on our hands while she was gone she’ll hex our bits off.”

 

He got up from the table and moved over to where they kept their books and quills. He remembered his visit to the Ministry back in fifth year quite vividly; he thought he might be able to recreate something like a map that would give them a starting place. He reached out to grab a large piece of parchment and felt a hand on his arm. He stood up straight to find Harry standing close to him, his green eyes full of sympathy and regret.

 

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

 

Draco swallowed. He didn’t know how to reply. He couldn’t say _it’s not your fault_ , because even though it wasn’t, Draco couldn’t help the tiny part of him that did blame Harry for it, just a little. He couldn’t say _thank you_ , because somehow that wouldn’t do justice to the amount of sorrow and misplaced guilt that he could see in Harry’s eyes. Eventually he settled on, “I know,” in a quiet voice, and hoped that that would be enough.

  
It seemed as though it was, at least for now, because Harry nodded and picked up the parchment Draco had been reaching for. “So, a break in at the Ministry,” he said, his voice stronger than it had been before. “Should be fun, right?”

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

“I think we should check Hogwarts,” Draco said, leaning his chair back on two feet languidly. A large book thumped down on the table, so close to where he was holding on with his thumb that he let go, falling to the floor with a crash. He looked up to see Pansy glaring at him, while both Blaise and Harry snickered at him. “What was that for?”

 

“Because you’ve been saying that for _months_ now Draco, and I keep telling you-“

 

“’Riddle would already have checked the school’ yes I _know_ that Pansy, but I still think he might have missed something.” Draco picked himself up from the floor and stomped over to one of the bunk beds.

 

“Draco does have a point,” Harry said, still grinning from his place at the rickety table. “There were loads of secret places I found that hardly anyone knew about.”

 

Pansy gave him one of her patented _did I give you permission to speak_ glares. “The very fact that it was _you_ who found them pretty much guarantees that they weren’t as secret as you thought they were.” She mumbled something about _bloody Gryffindors_ and grabbed yet another book from the teetering pile. She ran her finger down the spine and then threw it at Blaise. “Read this one next.”

 

Blaise fumbled the catch and swore at her. “Why is it always me neck deep in books?”

 

“Because you’re the only one of us that actually likes reading.” She arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow over at Draco. “Why couldn’t you have brought the swotty Gryffindor instead of the useless one?”

 

“Hey!” Harry complained. “I’m not useless.”

 

Pansy glanced scathingly at him. “Of course not. But let’s just examine the evidence against that for a moment, shall we?” She stood up and began pacing the length of the table. “We’ve been on the run since Dumbledore took over the Ministry, trying to keep from dying while also searching for the last of the Deathly Hallows. And we’re just as close to finding it as we were six months ago!” She tilted her head to the side. “Although we are still not dead, which I suppose is a plus.”

 

“Right, so it’s my fault we haven’t found Death’s Cloak, is it?” Harry replied hotly.

 

“Well we certainly haven’t done it any quicker with you here, have we?”

 

“”And you think you could have if I _hadn’t_ been here, do you?” Harry stood up, his hands clenched into fists by his sides. Seeing Harry get angry – at least, when it wasn’t directed towards him – always made Draco’s stomach tighten in a strange way. “You would have been caught trying to sneak into the Ministry if it hadn’t have been for me!”

 

“Yes, and we were almost nearly caught at the Manor because you rushed in without thinking!”

 

“Fine! If I’m just sitting around here being useless, I might as well leave then!”

 

Draco sat up on the bed; how had this escalated so quickly? He opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say, but Blaise got there first.

 

“Enough, you two!” Blaise stood up, thumping the books in his hands down on the table. The coffee cups jumped and rattled in their wake. “ _We’re_ leaving,” he said sternly, grabbing Pansy by the elbow and walking her backwards. “We’re going to go into town and when we come back everyone will have calmed down.” The tent sides shook as he pulled Pansy bodily behind him.

 

“Well. That was interesting,” Draco said into the ensuing silence.

 

“Oh shut up.” Harry whirled on him, his green eyes flashing with anger behind his glasses. Then, he reached down beside him and dragged up his bag. Flinging one strap over his shoulder, he shot one last glare at Draco before storming out of the tent.

 

Draco got up to follow, but he heard the _crack_ of Harry’s Disapparition before he even reached the tent flap. Draco didn’t understand what was going on. It was true that tension had been running high between the four of them, getting stronger with each day that passed with them no closer to their goal. Pansy hadn’t exactly taken it easy on Harry either. Their history had never been as volatile as Harry’s had been with Draco, but then, they hadn’t decided to try being friends either. Instead, Harry had just tagged along with them, and both Pansy and Blaise had had to learn how to get used to his presence at the same time as suddenly sharing an enclosed space with him. That smelled of cat pee. At least Draco had had most of fifth year to get to know Harry, to understand his sense of humour, to learn his facial expressions, to know how to talk to him without making him defensive. And even with all that time to get used to him, Draco had been surprised at just how grumpy Harry turned out to be in the mornings. Neither Pansy nor Blaise had had that chance. But neither had Harry, so it wasn’t like the tension was all his fault either.

 

But why everyone was suddenly at each other’s throats now was confusing. They’d been cornered together for most of a year, but apart from the odd insult thrown at each other from time to time, they’d worked out how to get along fairly early on. Draco wondered if it had been the failed Gringotts break-in. They’d been so sure that the Cloak would be in Riddle’s vault, that they would finally be one step closer to finishing this whole thing. Coming out with nothing to show for it except burns and bruises had been their biggest blow yet. And now they were running out of places to look for the Cloak.

 

Draco let the tent flap slip closed and he sat back down on the bottom bunk. The tent was eerily quiet now that he was alone, and for all his wishing over the past few months for a little bit of privacy, now he found the lack of other people oppressive and stifling. He picked up a book and flicked through it listlessly, unable to concentrate on anything except the slightly sick feeling that Harry wouldn’t come back. He just needed to blow off some steam, Draco told himself. That was all. And then he would come back and Pansy and Blaise would bring dinner and they would go back to their discussion, hopefully without all the insults thrown at each other. The book slipped out of his hands as his eyes fell closed, and he dreamed of cloaks and castles and a pair of haunted green eyes.

 

Draco flailed awake as the tent shook and Harry ripped the flap back. He strode into the centre of the tent and threw his bag down on the table. It was dark outside the tent, and Draco realised a good few hours had passed. He briefly wondered where Pansy and Blaise had got to.

 

Draco watched Harry, unsure if he should say anything. Had he really come back? Or was he just here to grab something he’d forgotten and would be off again before Draco could do anything to stop him? But Harry didn’t still look angry; he looked almost feverish, his skin flushed pink and his eyes glittering, like the look he always wore when he was closing in on the Snitch.

 

“Where’s that Peverell genealogy book?” Harry said, crouching down by the pile of books and throwing them haphazardly behind him.

 

“It’s here,” Draco handed it to Harry, scowling as it was ripped from his hands. “Why the sudden hurry? It’s not like we haven’t all read that book so many times we could quote from it in our sleep.”

 

“Did I ever tell you where I got my cloak?” Harry said abruptly, and Draco stared at him.

 

“Great, now even the brave Gryffindor among us is finally losing his marbles.”

 

“It was my dad’s.” Ignoring Draco, Harry flipped through the pages of the book so fast he couldn’t possibly be taking anything in. “He gave it to me, the day before I started my first year. It was like a ‘welcome to the wizarding world’ kind of thing. He said it was a tradition in our family, that it’s passed down from father to son.”

 

“As fascinating as this sudden history lesson of the Potter family is, why the hell are we talking about it now?” Draco sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Harry leaned over the last section of the book, the one that showed the Peverell family line. It had taken them months of pouring over that book – after successfully managing to steal it from inside the Ministry – before they had manage to connect Cadmus Peverell with the Gaunt family; Riddle’s family. They hadn’t come close to finding out who might now be descended from Ignotus Peverell; Pansy thought the line had died out.

 

Harry got up and started pacing, one finger tracing the lineage across the pages in the book. “I left earlier, you know. I decided I’d had enough, that I was fed up with being Pansy’s punching bag whenever she gets frustrated, and Blaise with his bloody eyebrow, and _you,_ ” he stopped and pointed at Draco, “You never say _anything_ to them, you just sit back and watch as they gang up on me. And normally I don’t care, because I can take care of myself thank you very much, but today I just thought, why am I even here? Why am I even bothering with all this when you can’t even be bothered to back me up once in a while?”

 

Draco swallowed. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but Harry was right; he _didn’t_ ever stand up for Harry against Pansy’s considerable wrath, he just sat back and amused himself with the ensuing fireworks.

 

“So I left. I Apparated off to Ron’s. But somehow I managed to land right in the middle of a group of Snatchers-“

 

“Snatchers? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Draco stood up and grabbed Harry’s arm as he paced by the bed, holding him still so he could check him for injuries.

 

Harry shook him off and handed him the book. “I’m fine, and do you want to know why? It’s because I’d Apparated under my cloak.” Draco stared down at the book in his hand, still wondering what any of Harry’s story had to do with it. “And then I remembered something Ron told me in first year, back when I first showed him my cloak. Really good invisibility cloaks are rare, the charms wear off, or the fabric starts to degrade, and they don’t stop hexes and curses from going through them and hitting the person underneath. But my cloak is old, so old my dad didn’t even know how long it had been in the family. And yet it still works exactly as it always has.” Harry looked at Draco, his eyes shining. “Remember when Pansy theorised that Death’s Cloak was an invisibility cloak?”

 

Draco suddenly understood where Harry was going with all of this. He could feel a small bubble of what felt like hope in his chest and he shook his head to clear it. “Harry, Ignotus Peverell’s line died out, the last child died as a teenager-“

 

“But what if she didn’t?” Harry’s eyes were shining as he leaned closer and pulled the page out to its full extent. “There, see, Harriet Peverell. It says she died at the age of nineteen, but what if she didn’t? They were an old pureblood family; what if they did what the Black family did and disinherited her because she married a muggle?”

 

“Harriet Peverell,” Draco whispered, tracing the name with a fingertip.

 

“My dad did always say that I’d been named after an old relative,” Harry said, a grin starting to pull at the corners of his lips.

 

“Then that means that your cloak is-“

 

“Death’s Invisibility Cloak, the last Deathly Hallow!” Harry finished, laughing out loud and spreading his arms wide.

 

Draco dropped the book to the floor and grabbed Harry around the waist, and the both of them danced around the tent as they yelled in celebration. It took three trips around the table before Draco realised he could feel Harry’s breath against his neck and smell his hair, could hear the way his heart beat almost in time with his own. His stomach dipped and swirled the way it always did when Harry was close, and as his eyes slid closed and his hands moved without his permission across Harry’s back, he realised he finally understood why.

 

He cleared his throat and forced his hands to stop roaming as he tried to take a step back, but Harry wouldn’t let him get far. He tightened his hands on Draco’s shoulders and stared at him, his green eyes dazzling Draco so close up. “As I’m the only Gryffindor here,” he whispered, “That probably means I’m going to have to make the first move.” And then he leaned in and kissed Draco full on the mouth.

 

And oh, _oh_. Yes, this was what his stomach had been trying to tell him for years now, Draco realised, as the press of Harry’s mouth grew firmer against his own, as a hot slick tongue licked at his lips and he felt an answering moan lodge itself in the back of his throat. He pulled Harry closer by the waist, and this time he didn’t stop his hands from moving, discovering the dip of Harry’s hip, the ridges of his spine, the way his hair felt silky smooth against his fingertips. Draco felt Harry’s own hands wandering, finding the strip of skin between his t shirt and trousers.

  
And suddenly, with the knowledge that they were finally one step closer to completing the mission that Riddle had set out for them so long ago, and with Harry in his arms and feeling as though he was made to fit there, Draco thought he might actually have a chance of beating Dumbledore and winning the war.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

“I think we should stay just like this,” Draco said, raising his arms above his head and stretching in the lumpy bed. A hand tickled feather-light touches across his ribs, and a snort reached his ears.

 

“Right. We should just stay in a tent that smells of cat piss in the middle of bloody nowhere. I’m sure you’ll handle that great.”

 

Draco shrank away from the fingers slowly treading their way across his chest and cracked one eye open to glare. “I didn’t mean the _tent._ And this mattress should be arrested for grievous bodily harm. I _meant_ we should stay like _this._ ” And he demonstrated by wrapping his arms around the body next to his and squeezing.

 

Harry laughed and wriggled, only too happy to be pulled closer, judging by the way he attacked Draco’s exposed collarbone with his teeth. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

 

Draco sucked in a breath as Harry’s lips moved further up and attached themselves to the skin of his neck. “Stop that! The others will be back in a bit and they’ll notice!”

 

“I think they’ve already noticed quite a few things,” Harry mumbled into Draco’s skin, the vibrations making him tingle in places he really shouldn’t be thinking about right now. But then Harry moved away and rested his head on Draco’s chest, content to draw unrecognisable symbols into the bare skin of Draco’s stomach.

 

Draco sighed and ran his fingers through Harry’s dark hair, the messy strands softer than they looked. “We should have done this a long time ago.”

 

“I agree. Pity you were too busy being a git, to be honest.”

 

Draco pulled viciously on the locks between his fingers, and Harry yelped. “Excuse you, Mr Bloody Perfect Gryffindor. I seem to remember you being as much of a git as I was.” Draco sniffed.

 

Harry dug his fingers into Draco’s ribs until he squirmed in retaliation. Then he sighed and propped his chin on Draco’s chest. “Yeah, you’re probably right. We were both idiots.”

 

“We were.” Draco nodded solemnly. “Just so we’re clear though, you were a bigger one.”

 

Harry narrowed his green, green eyes. “Shut it, Malfoy,” he said, narrowing his green eyes.

 

“Make me.”

 

And Harry did, with his tongue and teeth and lips, until all Draco could think about was the feel of Harry against him and wonder how they had missed this for so long. How all those fights between them, hexes and punches and vindictive words, those nights in the infirmary, trying to be friends, all of them had just been a mask for _this._ And now he never wanted it to stop.

 

The sound of the tent flap whipping back had them both shooting upwards and away from each other. Draco reached out quickly for his shirt, haphazardly discarded an hour ago by a grinning and eager Harry. Draco’s skin burned in a flush at knowing how they both looked, and waited until the last possible moment before looking up and facing the amused expressions of his friends.

 

But neither Blaise nor Pansy’s face looked anything close to amused; in fact, they each wore a grim and worried expression. “What is it? What’s happened?” Draco stood up from the bunk bed, Harry pulling himself up to stand next to him.

 

Pansy shared a look with Blaise, who nodded. “It looks like we have no choice now. He’s on the move,” she said, her voice as quiet and full of fearful determination.

 

“Where?” Draco asked, as if he couldn’t already guess.

 

Blaise nodded again; he looked pale but determined. “Hogwarts.”

 

Pansy moved about the spacious tent, packing the things they would need the most. They wouldn’t be needing everything; this was their last move. Harry reached down into his own backpack, silvery material clenched tight in his left hand. Draco flicked a glance over to where Pansy and Blaise both stood, their heads bent together quietly. Draco smiled slightly, pleased for his friends that they had finally realised what they had right in front of them too. He turned to Harry, grabbing his wrists.

 

“Harry, I need to tell you-“

 

He was interrupted by a soft kiss, Harry’s hand sliding from his grip to slide up, warm and steady against his cheek. “Anything you have to say to me can wait until after,” Harry said as he pulled away.

Draco looked at him, at the way his bright green eyes shone with determination and optimism from behind his glasses, and he knew Harry wouldn’t let him say what he so desperately wanted to say.

 

“We ready to go?”

 

Draco lifted his head to see Blaise standing by the open tent flap, Pansy right beside him. He nodded and reached for Harry’s hand, clenching it tightly as though he could stop anything bad from happening next by just that one gesture.

  
“Let’s go.”

 

~~*~~

Now

~~*~~

His nails are biting into the black leather of the chair. Draco opens his eyes and stares down at the cluster of little half-moons and wonders if someone will find them later, once everything is over. Maybe they’ll find a way to preserve them for posterity. He laughs at himself and the sound echoes around the room, intensifying his feeling of despair and loneliness. The portraits are all empty, the glittering cage where Nagini used to take her naps has disappeared, the old leather diary Riddle used to proudly display on his desk has been packed up and put away along with the rest of his possessions. Draco supposes they were taken to make room for the new headmaster’s trinkets, but it seems Professor Black had nothing to display. He eyes the Pensieve and swallows; nothing except a few memories anyway. And now he was dead, taken down by Dumbledore with his killing curse, while Draco and Harry had looked on just an hour earlier.

 

He’s wasting time here, and he knows it. It won’t be long before Dumbledore loses patience and comes to find him, and Draco can’t let that happen. It _has_ to be on his terms; this is the only way he will be able to go through with it. If Harry is anywhere close when it finally happens…

 

Draco wrenches his hands from the back of the chair and strides over to the door. His hand is trembling as it closes around the doorknob, and he risks one more glance back at the office that holds so many memories for him, both good and bad, but all _magical_ , and giving him a sense of _belonging._ As his eyes take in the room one last time, he can’t help but wonder how things would have turned out had he never come here.

 

Draco steps off the moving staircase, almost tripping over the toppled gargoyle laying in the hall. The castle is quiet now, the near silence unnerving after all the shouts and screams, the brightly coloured flashes of spells being thrown every which way. The stone walls are still thrumming from withstanding the onslaught from outside the barriers erected by the teachers; two of the towers crumbled almost to dust and most of the west wall blown to smithereens. Dust blows through the air on eddies brought in through the cracked and broken stones, gaps yawning wide where windows once stood. Draco trails his hands along the walls as he walks, letting the memories wash over him of all the times he has traversed these halls, laughing with his friends, fighting with Harry, nervously walking to Riddle’s office for his ‘private’ lessons, for long talks about his role in the war, for learning about everything that led him here.

 

The staircases are groaning in defeat when he reaches them, the balustrades blown off on one side, rubble preventing them from securing themselves to the landings properly. It’s not as quiet anymore; the sounds of movement, quiet sobs and cries of pain emanate out from the Great Hall and echo through the main staircase. Draco stops, halfway down. He can’t let anyone see him. If he’s seen, he’ll be stopped. If he stops, he’ll never be able to gather up the courage to start again. Bravery has never been his strong suit; he’s always left that up to Harry.

 

 _Harry._ He remembers, suddenly, and pushes his hands beneath his cloak, his fingers clenching around silvery cloth. He pulls out the invisibility cloak, wraps the memories it brings around him as he pulls it over him, wearing them like a second skin. All those times Harry would just show up out of nowhere, infuriating Draco with his ability to just disappear before any punishment could befall him. Disappearing out of sight after their midnight duels, leaving Draco to cower behind statues and hope that he wouldn’t be discovered by teachers prowling the corridors. It had frustrated Draco to no end his first four years at school, but now his quiet laugh was barely even all that bitter now that he knew that Black had known about the cloak, had probably assumed that Harry was somewhere close by, watching invisible, as Draco was caught and handed out months’ worth of detentions and had house points deducted for being out of bed. How many times had Black seen his old friend disappear under this very same cloak? How many times had he hidden under it with James Potter, evading punishment just as Harry and his friends did?

 

But none of that matters now, all that matters is the memory of Harry pushing the cloak into Draco’s arms less than an hour ago, brushing his lips briefly against his cheek as he pushed him out of the Great Hall and whispered _Go do what you have to do. I’ll be here, waiting. Then we’ll finish this together._

 

And oh, how Draco wanted to find him now, grab his hand and pull him away, far away so they could hide. The rest of the world didn’t matter, as long as they were together. Except it did, to Harry at least. He would never go with Draco, would insist on staying to fight, and if there was one thing that terrified Draco more than the idea of walking straight into the forest and his own demise, it was living the rest of his life without Harry.

 

The door to the Great Hall pushes open as Draco reaches the bottom step. He curls himself against the wall, clutching tighter to the folds of the cloak. A Gryffindor – one of Harry’s friends, Draco thinks her name is Patil – limps out, her long dark hair singed to a frazzled clump on one side of her ponytail. An arm is slung over her shoulder, and Draco just manages to recognise Theo Nott, his face blackened with soot as he leans his weight heavily against her. Draco watches as together they stumble and weave across the hall and down the corridor leading towards the infirmary.

 

The sounds are louder now that the doors have been open, and Draco can’t stop himself from peeking inside. _Just once_ , he tells himself. _Just one more look at him, one more moment can’t hurt._ But Harry isn’t in the Great Hall, Draco can tell from just a single sweep of his gaze. He has always been able to pick him out of the crowd, even before they were friends, back when they hated the mere sight of each other. Harry’s unruly mop of hair and his infectious grin would unerringly draw Draco’s eye in every room, and his stomach would dip and swirl with anger. The dip and swirl had never stopped, although the reason for it had changed throughout the years.

 

His eyes light on Pansy’s dark head, kneeling down amid the rows of dead and injured people, teachers and students and Society members alike. Blaise is standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder as she leans over a body and cries quietly. Draco looks up, not wanting to see who it is that she’s mourning, and then Granger’s bushy hair is there, blocking Draco’s view as she crouches down to envelop Pansy in a hug. Weasley stands just behind her, his shock of red hair blinding even under the layers of grime and dust that coat all of the fighters in the room.

 

 _I did that_ , Draco thinks. The gap between the factions was already closing, and all because of him. Or at least because of Harry. Because without Harry, Draco knew he would never have the strength to do what he needed to do. _Why can’t that be enough?_ But it isn’t, and Draco knows it, so he turns away and steps back, over the rubble. The house hourglasses have shattered at some point in the melee, and splashes of green mixed with red and blue and yellow cover the stone floor. Yet more symbolism of how things are finally changing.

 

The night air is cool on Draco’s face, even under the cloak. He feels cold, numb, and he realises his cheeks are wet. He wonders if he has been crying since the moment he pulled himself out of the Pensieve and away from Black’s memories. His hands are frozen, clenched tight into fists, and he can’t loosen them, not even when he trips over something in the dark and realises that it’s a body. He turns his face away, not wanting to know if they were friend or foe, not daring to look at the carnage this close. He’s already about to stare death in the face; he doesn’t need to see its effects before it happens to him.

 

Grass crunches under his feet as he slowly walks away from the sphere of light emanating out from the smashed front doors, into the shadows that seem to be calling for him to join them, into the darkness waiting to claim him. He tries to keep his gaze forward, looks at the edge of the forest as he slowly draws nearer to it, because he’s terrified that one look back will have him running for the safety of the castle, his home. Movement draws his eye and he looks instinctively, and the sight before him stops Draco’s breath in his lungs. _Harry._

 

He’s leaning over a crumpled figure in the grass, the tips of his hair shining black in the dim light from a broken window above him. His hands are covered in a dark, sticky substance that Draco doesn’t want to name for fear of the moan threatening to escape his lips at the sight. Harry is whispering something to the figure next to him, and Draco can’t make out what he’s saying but he can hear the tone he’s using. It’s the one he uses when all he has are words to reassure people. Draco knows; Harry has used it on him more than once. Draco can’t see who it is Harry is talking to, but he doesn’t much care. He can’t take his eyes away from Harry. _Just once more,_ he had asked for, but now that’s he’s been granted his wish he realises what a mistake it was to want it. He can’t walk away now, not now that Draco has Harry in his sight, just a few steps away from being able to hold him. And then he hears him.

 

“It’s okay,” Harry whispers to the tiny crumpled form. “It’ll all be over soon.”

 

Draco’s knees weaken and he almost falls to the floor. He had little choice before, sitting on the floor of the cold and dark office, the knowledge of how exactly he will end this war dripping through him like ice water, freezing his veins. But now he knows that he has no choice; he can’t turn tail and run now. Because Harry _believes in him._

 

He drags his gaze up and away, and he almost laughs out loud as he sees where they are. His eyes follow the brick up and up, the tower swallowed by the night before he can reach the top. The Astronomy Tower.

 

“Harry? Harry!”

 

Draco shakes himself out of his memories, turns and sees Granger running across the grass, Weasley just behind her.

 

“It’s Janice Wentworth. I think one of the giants got her.” Harry moves out of the way as Granger conjures a stretcher, then helps Weasley arrange the broken and bleeding girl upon it.

 

Draco takes a stumbling step back; Janice Wentworth, the little fourth year Slytherin who had taken it upon herself to follow Draco around all during sixth year. She must have found a way to sneak back to the castle after all the younger kids were evacuated.

 

“Have you seen Draco recently?” Granger asks, and Harry looks down at his feet.

 

“No.”

 

 _But I see you,_ Draco thinks but doesn’t say. _I would talk to you if I thought I’d have the courage to walk away after._

 

But he knows he doesn’t, and so he stands still and watches as Harry’s friends guide him back into the castle, the stretcher levitating next to them.

 

 _Look after him when I’m gone,_ he also doesn’t say, because he knows they will.

 

He waits, until even their long shadows cast by the light from the Great Hall have faded away. Then he turns, fixes his gaze once more on the edge of the forest, and he walks.

The wind is lazy and cool upon his flushed cheeks, the night air still holding the muggy warmth of summer sun. He should be able to see the stars on a night like this, but he can’t; clouds of smoke and dust from the fight obscure almost everything. He wishes he could see them once more, thinks that maybe seeing the tail of _Draconis_ twinkling down at him might fortify him for what he is about to do. Maybe it is fitting that he can’t.

 

His feet scuff against something lying in the ground, something too thin to be a body, so he looks down. It’s a broom, broken in half and most of the tail burnt out, a remnant leftover from the broom shed exploding. There are others close by, bits of twig and half burnt pieces of foot guards littering the dark grass. Draco can’t help it; he looks over to the Quidditch pitch.

 

The stands are half shrouded in darkness, the rest covered with clouds of spell particles, but Draco can still just pick out the three hoops at the south end of the pitch. From this distance, they look no bigger than the matchsticks Harry liked to play with while they were camping. Draco hadn’t been able to understand the point of them when you had a wand to cast a simple _incendio,_ but he had liked the way the small flame had reflected in Harry’s eyes as he’d shown him how they worked.

 

The forest yawns black and foreboding in front of him, and Draco’s heart beats harder, as though it know its time is nearly at an end. It’s quieter under the thick canopy of leaves, shielded from the sounds of activity back at the castle. The usual noises of the forest are quieter too; holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Draco stumbles over moss covered rocks and vines, not caring if he’s heard. Perhaps if they hear him they will help him take these last few steps to his end. He has barely had the strength of will to force himself this far, and in the shelter of the trees, separated from everything happening behind him, it’s suddenly so much harder to do.

 

Draco wants to be angry that this is what following Riddle has brought him to, but the truth is, the last year spent on the run with Pansy and Blaise and Harry had been the best of his life, even with all the running for their lives and searching dangerous places and camping in old and smelly tents on the edges of long forgotten places. Even though now he knows that this moment was all Riddle had been preparing him for, now that he knows he had never stood a chance in this war, he cannot bring himself to resent the old headmaster. After all, he’d been spared long enough to give him a few moments with Harry.

 

He’s deep in the forest by the time he finally hears some sounds of life; feet shuffling in leaves and low mutterings that signal the waiting place of the people waiting to watch him die. This is it, the final step. He takes a deep breath and pulls the mask on, the one he wears when he’s terrified but refuses to let anyone see. Harry is the only one he knows who can read behind that look, and he hopes it serves him as well tonight as it always has in the past. Then he steps out into the clearing, ignoring the collective gasps of the people waiting in the wings.

 

All he can see are the twinkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

 

Dumbledore stands in the middle of the clearing, his midnight blue robes sweeping the leaves and twigs scattered across the floor. His hands are held together in front of him, and his head is bowed as though in deep contemplation, but his eyes are fixed on Draco over the top of his half-moon glasses. His silver beard is long enough to tuck into his belt, and melds perfectly with his long hair as it falls down over his shoulders. He wears a small smile, and Draco thinks it looks almost _proud._

 

“Surprised to see me?” Draco sneers at the old man, because he knows they all doubted he would respond to the summons, given loud over the grounds of the school almost an hour ago.

 

Dumbledore chuckles lightly. “I admit, it was a point of discussion amongst myself and my friends.” He sweeps one hand out to indicate his followers, all spread amongst the large roots in small groups.

 

Draco ignores them all, and concentrates on Dumbledore. “And what was your wager on? Fight or flight?”

 

“Neither,” Dumbledore replies, rocking on his heels in obvious amusement. “You know enough to know that any fight wouldn’t end in your favour. And you’ve had this last entire year to run and yet, here you are. Clearly something is keeping you from flight.”

 

Draco purses his lips to hide his shock at being so easy to read. “Maybe I have an ace up my sleeve.”

 

“It’s entirely possible,” Dumbledore inclines his head. “I don’t think it will help you, however. I still have the Wand, and the Stone.” His voice is quiet, contemplative, and his fingers move slowly over the length of wood held between his hands in front of him. A ring glitters on one finger, almost an exact copy of the one Draco had seen in Black’s memories. The Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone, the other two Deathly Hallows to complete the set that Draco has been uselessly searching for over the past year.

 

“I must admit to being curious,” Dumbledore says, leaning forward as though waiting to be imparted with a secret. “Just what is it that has kept you from going into hiding?”

 

Draco can’t help himself; his eyes flick briefly to the couple standing beneath the large beech tree. It barely takes a second, and then his gaze is fixed resolutely upon Dumbledore once more, but it’s too late; he has already seen.

 

Dumbledore’s face lights up, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses as he chuckles to himself. Everything about him suggests _kindly old grandfather_ and Draco thinks even he would be taken in, if it weren’t for the reverential way he strokes the Elder Wand with his fingers as he speaks, if the light shining in his eyes looked more like genuine humour instead of the hint of hysterical mania that terrifies Draco and freezes his feet to the floor. But it’s no wonder, Draco reflects wildly, that so many people flock to his side and fight for him, when he speaks so genially and smiles so widely. And suddenly Draco sees just what a fool’s errand it was, to believe Riddle when he told him he had a fighting chance. There was never a possibility of that.

 

“I see!” Dumbledore says, and he turns on the spot to look across the clearing. Draco’s eyes instinctively follow his; there’s no point in trying to hide what has already been seen. Dumbledore flourishes his hands at the couple standing close together, gives them a miniature bow.

 

James Potter stands with his back braced against the gnarled trunk of the tree. His dark hair, so much like his son’s, sticks up in all directions, his hazel eyes wide behind his glasses. His hand rests on the shoulder of his wife Lily, her red hair flowing over her shoulders like a wreath of flame. Draco knows that he might be imagining it, but he thinks he sees James’ fingers flex upon her shoulder, as though holding his wife back. He wonders if she wants to attack him, hurt him, for taking her son away from her. Not just for the past year, but for the fight they have come to join this evening. No doubt they expected their only child to be standing with them. But when Draco raises his eyes to meet hers, he realises they're not focused on him, but on Dumbledore. Her green eyes, Harry's eyes, stared fiercely at the powerful old man. Draco has seen that same intensity in Harry's eyes and, in that moment, Draco sees Harry clearly in his mother, more so than his father.

 

“You should be proud, James,” Dumbledore says. “Your son is the reason we’re all here tonight.” James places his other hand on Lily’s waist and nods jerkily. Dumbledore turns back to Draco. “So this is what made you decide to meet with me tonight? The last year spent with our dear Harry?”

 

Draco swallows. _No,_ he thinks, _it’s all the years I’ll spend without him._

 

“You must understand, Draco,” Dumbledore says, pulling Draco out of his thoughts. “I do not relish this task. If there were any other way, believe me when I say that I would follow it.” He shrugs his shoulders regretfully, and his blue eyes are sad.

 

Draco doesn’t want to beg, wants to be able to look into the face of his killer with grace and courage, the way he knew Harry would if their places were reversed, but he can’t help himself. “What if there is another way? What if we were to try something else?” He says, and he can hear the desperate whine in his tone and he despises it.

 

But Dumbledore just shakes his head. “I wish there were, my boy. But I have thought of nothing else for years and so I know, without doubt, that this is the only way we can save magic.”

 

Draco swallows hard. “What if I promise not to interfere?” He wants to say more, wants to promise that he’ll endorse Dumbledore’s regime, that he’ll marry a Muggleborn if that’s what is asked of him, but an image of bright green eyes and unruly black hair stays his tongue.

 

“I wish it were that simple,” Dumbledore replies, and Draco sees his fingers clench with purpose around the Elder Wand. “But I am afraid that as long as you are alive, people will see you as a beacon to cling to, a way of holding on to the old ways. And as long as people have that, magic cannot be saved.” He looks mournfully around at his followers. “Please do not think bad of me Draco. I am truly sorry it had to come to this.”

  
Draco closes his eyes, unable to watch as the Wand is pointed at him. He hears the words of the curse, feels the rush of air as it wings its way across the clearing towards him, and he thinks, just briefly, of how the colour of the curse is almost the exact same shade of Harry’s eyes.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

The floor is cold beneath him, cool and smooth, like marble. He cracks his eyes open and blinks rapidly, but the swirls of grey mist don’t dissipate. He sits up, looks around. Everything is grey, from the floor to the air to his clothes. There is nothing for him to see, nothing to give him some kind of sign as to where he has woken up.

 

He strains his ears to listen, and after a moment, he thinks he hears something. He looks for the source of the noise, a soft _tap, tap, tap._ Footsteps, he realises, and he stands up, waiting.

 

“Draco,” a high, cold voice says, whisper quiet, and then he remembers.

 

He died. He stood in front of Dumbledore and looked into those twinkling blue eyes as he apologised for what he had to do, and then he died. And woke up here.

 

“I was beginning to worry you would never arrive.” Professor Riddle suddenly stands before him, and Draco stares. He’s wearing the same robes as the night he fell from the tower, although those too are coloured in grey tones. His hands are folded in front of him, his long pale fingers linked together patiently.

 

But Draco is not feeling patient; he is angry. Angry that Riddle is here, because he knows what that must mean for himself. Angry that he is here, because he had been given a glimpse of a life he could have had before it was ripped away from him. And he is angry that he was manipulated to get to this very moment, and Riddle has the audacity to worry that he wouldn’t arrive?

 

“Did you think I was going to run and hide?” Draco sneers.

 

Riddle doesn’t smile, which tells Draco that he’s not angry at being spoken to like that. Instead, he steps back, the grey mist parting behind him and revealing a grey stone bench. Riddle sits down and gazes calmly at Draco.

 

“I admit I did think it a possibility,” he says, lacing his fingers in his lap. “You are after all, a Slytherin, just as I was. Self-preservation is a standard trait amongst us.”

 

Draco scowls. “It’s not the only trait we have, you know.”

 

“Oh I know. Which is why I was only slightly worried, and not outright concerned.”

 

Draco sighs and sits down next to his old headmaster. If he’s dead, then he guesses there’s no time like the present to discuss House divides. “I suppose you were right to be worried. We aren’t exactly known for our bravery.”

 

“Hmmm.” Riddle licks his lips. “I think that word has come to mean something else since its attachment to our noble Gryffindor House. These days people seem to think that bravery is the same thing as daring and recklessness. But just because a Slytherin tends to look before he jumps, doesn’t make him any less brave.” He looks at Draco. “What do you think?”

 

“I think none of it matters anymore.” Draco looks out into the endless grey mist. He realises distantly that the place looks like a very empty and dull Kings Cross station, platform nine and three quarters. “Is this it, then? Is this… After?”

 

“No. It is merely… in between.”

 

“In between what?”

 

“It’s the place where you make your decision, Draco. Between going back, and moving on.”

 

“Wait.” Draco looks up, hope flaring harsh and bright in his chest. “You mean I can go back? I’m not dead?”

 

“Your mother died trying to protect you, Draco. That kind of love leaves its mark.”

 

“So you’re saying,” Draco pauses, trying to work everything out. “Her sacrifice saved me?”

 

“In a way.” Riddle looks down at his hands. “I would say more that she gave you a second chance. Now it is up to you what you do with it.”

 

Draco waits, but Riddle doesn’t look up, and suddenly Draco understands. “It only works once, doesn’t it? If I go back now, Dumbledore will try to kill me again, and my mother’s sacrifice won’t save me a second time.”

 

“No, it won’t.” Riddle looks up finally, the pale mist surrounding them reflecting in his brown eyes, making them look almost red. “So this is the moment you must put your Slytherin cunning to good use, Draco. Use it to decide which would be the best option for you.”

 

Draco nodded. “I can move on, maybe see my family in the After. Or I can go back, where I am likely to die all over again, and this time it may not be so painless.”

 

“Yes.” Riddle blinks at him. “What do your Slytherin tendencies tell you to do?”

 

But Draco isn’t thinking about self-preservation. The only thought in his head is Harry. He stands up. “I’m going back.”

 

“To see if you can survive?”

 

“No.” Draco doesn’t bother to hide what he wants. “To see him again.”

 

“Ah.” Riddle raises an eyebrow, the closest facial expression he has to genuine affection. Draco has only ever seen it directed towards his pet snake before now. “Yet another Slytherin trait. Determination.”

  
Draco smiles grimly as the grey mist swirls around him, enveloping Riddle and the stone bench, even himself. He is determined. He will get back to Harry, and this time he’ll stay with him for as long as this second chance allows.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

The forest floor is hard beneath him, sticks and stones digging into every part of him that touches the ground. Draco can feel the squashy sensation of the cloak trapped beneath his robes against his ribs. The night air is as quiet as it was when he’d walked through the woods to meet his end.

 

“It really is such a shame,” Dumbledore says, and Draco realises that as much as time had seemed to pass so slowly while he had talked with Riddle, it was only a few seconds for everyone else.

 

“But now,” Dumbledore says, louder this time, and Draco has to stiffen his entire body to keep his flinch from exposing him. “Now we are finally ready to unite the wizarding world under one banner.” Draco hears feet and cloaks shuffling across the leaf strewn ground, and realises that Dumbledore and his followers are on the move. He wonders if he will be left here to rot.

 

“Hagrid, my dear fellow, would you please carry Mr Malfoy up to the school grounds for me? I think there will be a few people unable to believe he is truly gone without proof.”

 

The ground shakes slightly as the half giant walks closer to Draco. “Here. Let me help you, Hagrid,” says a woman’s voice, and then suddenly there are hands on Draco’s shoulders and two fingers pressing against the pulse on Draco’s neck. “You have Harry’s cloak?” The woman whispers, so quietly even Draco has to strain his ears to hear. He cracks his eyes open just enough to see Lily Potter leaning over him, her fiery red hair a curtain between him and the rest of the clearing. Her eyes hold that same determined fire that Draco has seen in Harry’s, whenever he has made up his mind about something. He nods his head a fraction. “Wait until we get to the castle,” she whispers. “Use it to get away when nobody’s looking.”

 

Draco wants to ask her why she’s helping him, but he knows he has to remain silent, keep up the appearance of his death for a little while longer. He has no time to question her anyway, as just then two large hands slip underneath him and haul him up and away from the floor. He keeps his eyes closed, and tries to keep his body as limp as possible. And then they’re moving, trees catching in his hair and pulling at his robes as they walk through the forest, back to the castle. Back to Harry.

 

Draco can tell when they finally reach the courtyard before the great doors, even with his eyes closed. Behind his closed lids, he notices the moment they step into the arc of light emanating from within the castle. He’s so close, so close to home, to his friends, to _Harry,_ and keeping still and lifeless is suddenly the hardest thing in the world. He hears Dumbledore whisper a spell, and he has to clench his teeth to keep from reacting to his suddenly booming voice.

 

“Students! Teachers! Friends! It is time for us to put our differences aside and save magic together!”

 

Draco hears the scuffle of feet on stone as the occupants of the Great Hall come to the doors. He risks cracking an eye open and sees the teachers standing at the forefront of the crowd, trying in vain to hide the sight in front of them from the students. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Theo Nott, still leaning against the Gryffindor girl, limping badly as he pushes past the line of teachers.

 

“No! Draco!” Pansy’s voice echoes across the gap between them, and Draco closes his eye quickly.

 

“Put him down, Hagrid,” Dumbledore says, and Draco is laid carefully against the stone courtyard ground. “As you can see,” Dumbledore addresses the crowd, “Mr Malfoy is no longer with us. It is a terrible tragedy that we must learn from.”

 

“You killed him! I’ll kill you!”

 

“Harry no!”

 

Shoes scrape against the floor, and Draco wants nothing more than to run to Harry, to let everyone know that he’s alright, he’s not dead, but he has to wait for the right moment.

 

“Harry, my dear boy!” Dumbledore booms. “Today is a great day, and your parents have missed you very much, we all have. Why don’t you and your friends come over here and join us, hmm? It’s time for you to take your place in our new world.”

 

“Never!” Harry shouts, others behind him joining in until they drown out Dumbledore’s Sonorus.

 

“Enough!” Dumbledore shouts, and Draco sees through his closed eyelids red sparks shooting up into the sky. “This entire war between us all has been unnecessary, surely you can all see that? Magic needs me, you _all_ need me, to preserve our abilities and ensure that future generations will know the power of magic!

 

“And now, now that there is nothing dividing us, we shall join together, and I shall lead us into the new era of the wizarding world!”

 

Jeers and shouts start up again, until Draco can hear nothing except a big wall of sound. _Now,_ he thinks to himself, and he pulls the cloak out from under his robes and covers himself with it.

 

He can open his eyes now, and so he does, standing up in the small space between the crowd in the castle doorway and Dumbledore’s followers behind him. He doesn’t want to look for Harry, doesn’t think he’ll be able to lay eyes on him without screaming for him, but his eyes unerringly find him anyway, just as they always do. He’s standing at the front of the crowd, Weasley and Granger behind him, their wands all pointed at Dumbledore. Harry’s eyes are brighter than Draco has ever seen them, so full of emotion that the sight stops Draco’s breath in his throat.

 

Shouts turn into hexes and curses thrown across the space between the two groups of people, and Draco ducks and runs to the side. Dumbledore’s followers are coming closer now, converging on the crowd on the steps and pushing them back. Draco gets taken along with the crowd, ducking hexes and throwing a few of his own from under his cloak, all the while desperately looking for Harry. He sees Weasley being pushed through the doors into the Great Hall and he shoves his way through the crowd of people, knowing that where one member of the Gryffindor Trio are, the other two will surely be close by. And then he sees him, his black hair standing on end as he dodges curses thrown by one of Dumbledore’s followers. Enraged, Draco _stupefies_ Harry’s attacker, but before he can get closer to him, he hears Dumbledore’s magically enhanced voice from the middle of the room.

 

“Draco Malfoy! Where is Draco Malfoy?”

 

Fights all around slow down, as Dumbledore’s followers turn to look at their leader and the rest realise that Draco’s body has disappeared from the courtyard. A small circle of space appears around Dumbledore, and Draco steps into it, pulling off the cloak and throwing it to the floor behind him.

 

“Well, well,” Dumbledore chuckles into the sudden silence. “It appears I misjudged the effect of holding one of the Deathly Hallows. It appears they do help one cheat death after all.”

 

“No,” Draco says loudly, wanting to be sure that everyone hears Dumbledore’s mistake. “It had nothing to do with the Hallows. You killed my mother, Dumbledore. Surely you must know that such an act has consequences.”

 

Dumbledore’s eyes narrow slightly, the good humour in the blue twinkle now gone, replaced with something that looks more like madness. “I see. And I suppose you think that with this one public resurrection, you can rid the world of all evil, do you?” He leans forward slightly, as though to impart a secret only meant for Draco to hear. “I am afraid we are even in this feat, Draco, for I too have gone through a similar ordeal.”

 

“No,” Draco says again, distantly realising that they have begun to circle each other, the rest of the crowd looking in on them.

 

Dumbledore laughs, a rich, musical sound that would be beautiful if it weren’t for the thread of insanity that runs through it. “I am afraid that your dearly departed headmaster has had you labouring under a falsehood, Mr Malfoy. Tell me, did he tell you that you alone had the power to bring magic back to its former glory?”

 

“He told me lots of things,” Draco says with affected nonchalance; he’s finding it difficult to speak through the lump of terror in his throat. “But it was Black who told me what I needed to know.” From the corner of his eye, Draco sees James and Lily Potter push to the front of the crowd circling them, and he decides to press a little harder on that wound. “Did you know?” He asks Dumbledore, still watching the Potters in his peripheral vision. “Did you know that Black was working against you all these years? Is that why you killed him?”

 

He hears the choked cry from James Potter, and sees Lily wrapping her fingers around over her husband’s shoulder. In front of him, Dumbledore’s serene expression darkens for an instant. “Sirius was a fool,” he says, and his gaze slides from Draco to the Potters. “He put revenge above our mission, above the continuation of our world! Magic might very well have been lost due to his actions, I had no choice, James. Surely you can see that?”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco sees Harry, bending down near the floor, silvery material clenched in his fist. His eyes are on Draco as he stands back up and melts into the crowd once more. Draco hopes he’s intending to use it to get away. Even if Draco doesn’t survive this, it would all have been for nothing if there is no Harry.

 

Draco is ready when Dumbledore turns back to him, and he looks him square in the eye. Dumbledore smiles again. “I see what you’re doing, Draco. If you don’t mind my saying, your efforts to sow discontent amongst my friends and I are a little obvious, especially for a Slytherin.” He chuckles lightly. “But no matter. Once this unpleasantness between us is finished, I can add the Cloak to my collection. Then the new order can begin unimpeded.”

 

Draco thinks fast, and an image comes to him; Pansy sitting in the lumpy chair in the tent, tapping her quill against her chin as they all tried to make sense of the book she was reading. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Dumbledore,” Draco says, his voice loud and clear. He hopes Harry can hear him. “You never know what holding all three Hallows together might do.”

 

Dumbledore laughs again. “I flatter myself that I know a touch more about magical objects than yourself, Mr Malfoy.” He clears his throat, pulling his wand from within the folds of his robes. “And now, shall we end this?”

 

Draco lets his eyes flit around the crowd gathered in a circle around them; a mix of Slytherins and Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, teachers and Hogsmeade proprietors, parents and friends. Draco has already completed the prophecy; all the houses of Hogwarts, united together in the face of such megalomania. He searches the faces for a shock of messy black hair, but he can’t see him. Perhaps it is better this way; now he can face his end knowing that Harry is safe.

 

“We shall,” he says to Dumbledore, raising his wand as he watches the old man do the same.

 

A flash of movement catches his eye, and then suddenly Harry is in the middle of the circle, silvery substance clenched tight in one fist, the fingers of his other hand wrapped tightly around a small box. He throws the Cloak to the floor and then opens the box, pulling out a small bundle of matches. Harry looks over at Draco, and then strikes the matches and drops them.

 

The effect is almost instantaneous. The Cloak catches fire so quickly it is as though someone had cast the fiendfyre curse upon it. At the same time, Dumbledore lets out a cry of shock and pain, and Draco turns to look at him. The Elder Wand has fallen to the floor, cracked lengthways down the middle into two sharp pieces. But Dumbledore is looking at his hand where his ring is sitting on his middle finger. The Stone that rests atop it is on fire, and black veins are climbing quickly along his fingers, over his hand and disappearing under the sleeves of his robes. Dumbledore claws at the ring, even as his flesh turns black and flaky and dead, and Draco’s eyes widen in horror as he sees the black veins race across Dumbledore’s neck, skin dying in their wake.

 

Dumbledore lets out another cry of disbelief, and then the curse completes its duty, and his body falls to the floor, now nothing more than a pile of smoking, ash-ruined robes.

  
The entire hall is silent for a moment, and then screams and shouts start up all around him, and Draco can’t believe it’s all over. Harry throws himself at Draco, and Draco can’t breathe he’s being hugged so tight, but he doesn’t care because he’s alive and Dumbledore is dead, and Harry is in his arms, and Pansy and Blaise are hugging him from behind and his vision is obscured by bushy hair as Granger and Weasley join in behind Harry, and everything is just as it should be.

 

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

 

The sun rises on a full to bursting Great Hall, the house elves outdoing themselves with a lavish breakfast for everybody. Draco sits at what used to be the Ravenclaw table, but is now filled with Slytherins and Gryffindors, and even the odd teacher and parent. Pansy has her head rested on Blaise’s shoulder, who is trying hard not to show how pleased he is with this development. Granger is watching with some amusement as Weasley dances a ridiculous jig on the table with his friend Finnegan, the Irishman yelling loudly about something called a Riverdance.

 

A hand slides into his and Draco looks up as Harry sits down on the bench next to him. He’s been sitting with his parents for the last hour, waiting with them until they were led away by the arriving aurors. Draco squeezes Harry’s hand and gets a tired smile in return.

 

“I thought you were going to use the cloak to get away,” Draco whispers into Harry’s ear.

 

“No,” Harry frowns at him. “I was going to give it to Pansy so that she could hide it. I wasn’t going anywhere without you.” He reaches up to smooth Draco’s hair behind his ear. “And then I heard you, and I remembered what Pansy said.”

 

“About the Hallows being unstable if they were to be in the same place?”

 

“Mmhmm.” Harry slides his thumb over Draco’s jaw. “And you asking what would happen if one was destroyed.”

 

“I’m glad it worked,” Draco whispered, turning his head to place a kiss on Harry’s palm. “You look tired.”

 

“So do you.”

 

Draco looked around the Great Hall. People were still happily celebrating, and nobody looked ready to put a stop to it yet. The bodies of the fallen had been placed in a large classroom down the corridor, waiting to be transferred to St Mungos. There would be time for grieving and for justice to be meted out, but as for right now, all Draco wanted was to rest. And to hold onto Harry and never let him go.

 

“Fancy coming with me to see what the lake looks like from my dormitory window?” He asked Harry quietly.

  
Harry smiled and gripped Draco’s hand tightly in his own. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

 

~~*~~

Epilogue

~~*~~

_19 years later..._

 

September rolls in on a heat wave, Summer's last hurrah before fading into Autumn. Platform nine and three quarters is even hotter than the city streets; the steam from the Hogwarts Express mingling with the muggy air and making clothes and hair and skin sticky with sweat.

 

Not that the boys care too much, Draco notes with a wry smile. Lucius had run ahead the moment they had passed through the invisible barrier, shouting down the platform to his fellow second years. His excited voice could still be heard even now that the steam had swallowed him up. Scorpius and Sirius are watching their older brother running away, their small shoulders crammed tightly together next to their trunks. Draco isn’t as worried about them as he was about Lucius the year before; at least the twins have each other to lean on until they make more friends. Unless they end up in different houses, of course, although Draco secretly thought that was unlikely. He’d never known a pair of twins to look so different from each other and yet be so alike in temperament. They were both so calm and quiet, and Draco had placed his bet on them both being Sorted into Hufflepuff.

 

“Papa!”

 

Draco turns at the high voice, smiling as Narcissa runs up to him, flinging her small arms around his legs. She was a surprise addition to the family, and Draco’s heart swelled every time he caught a glimpse of her white blonde curls.

 

“Hey, Cissy,” he says, granting her urgent request and pulling her up onto his hip. “Did you finally manage to lose your dad?”

 

“Not for lack of trying,” says an exasperated voice, and Draco turns at the feel of a hand sliding around his neck. He smiles at Harry, whose hair is sticking up even more than usual, a sign that their six year old has been running him ragged.

 

“I want to go on the train, Papa!” Narcissa says imperiously, tapping her hand on Draco’s cheek to regain his attention.

 

“And you will, in a few years’ time,” Draco replies, his eyes scanning the platform for the boys. All three of them seem to have disappeared into the steam.

 

“No! I want to go now!”

 

“Narcissa, that’s enough,” Harry says firmly. Then he smiles at her; neither of them can resist giving in to their only daughter. Pansy finds it incredibly amusing and often comments on how Cissy was likely to end up very spoilt. “Tell you what, if you’re a good girl this morning, you might be able to play with Nell later, does that sound fun?”

 

Narcissa nods, her green eyes wide as she looks around the platform. “Is she here?” She asks finally.

 

“She should be,” Draco says, letting Narcissa’s small body slip down his side to the floor. “Not that we’ll be able to find them in this mess,” he adds.

 

“We don’t need to,” Harry says, and points. Sirius and Scorpius are walking towards them, Phyllida’s dark head between them. Pansy follows soon after her daughter, Blaise behind her with four year old Petronella balanced precariously on his shoulders.

 

“Nell!” Narcissa squeals, and Harry grins widely at Pansy’s frown. She hates the nickname Harry has given her youngest daughter.

 

“Papa!” Scorpius rushes over to Draco, Sirius just behind him, looking up at him with his serious grey eyes. “Phyllida says me and Sirius might not end up in the same house.”

 

Draco glances at Harry, who nods and walks closer to Pansy and Blaise, towing Narcissa behind him. Draco leans down so he can look his sons in the eyes. “It’s possible, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

 

Sirius’s eyes are huge. “But I always share a room with Scorpius. How will I be able to fall asleep without him there?”

 

Draco smiles. “I promise, no matter which house you end up in, there’ll be someone there that you know. Neither of you will be alone.”

 

The twins look a little mollified, and they look at each other before glancing around at the other students about to board the train. Draco sees Terry Boot and Susan Bones waving to their children, already on the train. Neville Longbottom and his wife Hannah are helping their daughter drag her luggage across the platform. Parvati and Theo are busy hugging their son, much to the boy’s embarrassment. Ginny Weasley is trying fruitlessly to straighten her son’s robes, while Luna is throwing their daughter above her head and then catching her with a squeal and a laugh. And over by Harry, Hermione and Ron have just turned up with Rose and Hugo, Ron reaching up to stop little Nell from toppling backwards from her father’s shoulders in her delight.

 

Yes, Draco thinks, smiling. No matter where his children end up, they’ll be just fine.

 

The whistle suddenly blows, and then it’s a mad scramble to make sure that Lucius has his owl and the twins both have their cats, and both Harry and Draco are busy trying to throw kisses at the boys and forcing promises of letters from Lucius, while Narcissa clings to Draco’s jeans and wails about the unfairness of it all. And then the train is moving, and Draco’s heart skips a beat as three small hands wave to him before disappearing into the rapidly moving train.

 

“So,” Ron says as he walks closer, picking up Narcissa and slinging her over his shoulder. She giggles and squeals, her upset forgotten, at least for the time being. “You guys want to come over to the Burrow for the afternoon? George has invented this new barbeque, apparently it can cook a burger in less than ten seconds.” He lets a squirming Narcissa down, who runs straight over to Nell. “We might not get to eat anything, but it is likely that he’ll blow his eyebrows off again, so it should be fun.”

 

“As long as there’s alcohol,” Draco agrees, and Ron grins and strides off to join his wife and Pansy and Blaise.

 

A hand slips into his and Draco turns, already knowing what he will see. Sure enough, Harry eyes are damp behind his glasses, as he looks back in the direction the train has disappeared into. Draco wandlessly conjures a handkerchief and hands it to his husband. They’ve been able to do things like that for a few years now, their magic stronger than ever before.

 

“Such a cry baby,” he says, teasingly.

 

Harry laughs and wipes his eyes. “Such a selfish prat,” he replies.

 

Draco pulls Harry closer, sliding his arms around his waist as he leans in and kisses Harry. “Come on,” he says when they break apart. “We shouldn’t leave Ron and Pansy together for too long without us there as a buffer.”

 

Harry nods and slides his fingers through Draco’s again. Up ahead of them, Pansy shrieks in indignation and punches Ron on the arm.

 

“Ow! What? I didn’t say anything!”

 

“Morgana’s tits! Morgana’s tits!” Narcissa and Nell chant gleefully.

 

Harry groans and then looks at Draco. “Maybe we could Apparate somewhere else by accident?” He asks hopefully.

 

Draco squeezes his hand. “I’d go anywhere with you,” he says quietly, and then turns to where their daughter is running back to them, still shrieking her newly found naughty word. Together they walk back through the barrier into Kings Cross, ready to Apparate to the Burrow and spend the rest of the day with their extended family.

  
Being a wizard is brilliant, but being with Harry is everything.

 

~~*~~

The End

~~*~~

 

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